


Legacy

by sailorgreywolf



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Latin Hetalia, Multi, Revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 56
Words: 214,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3858004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorgreywolf/pseuds/sailorgreywolf





	1. Chapter 1

The bedroom was filled with slanting shafts of light that filtered in through the blinds. America was lying across the bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. Mexico was sitting on the foot of the bed. America was staring at the tattoo of an eagle across Mexico's right shoulder blade, and then he spoke "Alejandro, where did you get that tattoo?"

Mexico looked over at America and said "Alfred, do you remember your parents?" America glanced over at Mexico, confusion obvious in his face "I mean, there is England but he isn't really-". Mexico interrupted him "I don't mean him. I mean, your parents-your real parents". America shrugged "Not really, I can't remember". Mexico sighed "Then you are lucky, maybe that's why you can forgive Eyebrows". America scowled "He has a name you know." Mexico ignored his remark "I will never forgive Spain for what he did. Never". America rarely heard Mexico's voice so cold, it was only ever like this when he was talking about Spain. America sat up and stared at the back of his lover's head, willing him to turn around "Why do you hate him so much? What did he do to you"?

Mexico snarled "It's not what he did to me. It's what he did to my mother. Even he doesn't know I was there that day. He doesn't know that I saw him put his sword through my mother's heart." America shivered at the coldness in Mexico's voice "How can you remember that? You were so young". Mexico finally turned to face America "If you had seen something like that, you wouldn't forget. I was old enough to know what good and bad was. I see through Spain and that fake act he puts out". America tried to respond "But Spain is different now; he was going through hard times back then". America realized a second too late that he had said the wrong thing when angry tears formed in Mexico's eyes.

He could hear the pain in Mexico's voice "I don't care! What he did was unforgivable! If you could remember, you would know how I feel". America carefully hugged Mexico "I'm sorry, I know it means a lot to you. What does it have to do with your tattoos?" Mexico's rage cooled a little "Now my tattoos are the only things I have left to remember my mother and father". America traced the eagle on Mexico's back "Tell me about them, please"

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The night was alight with the fire of thousands of torches gathered around the base of a pyramid. The steps held the high priests of the Aztecs, dressed in gold and rich feathers. All around rain poured down in sheets. The Mayan empire kneeled next to his wife on top of the pyramid. The woman screamed as another contraction sent pain searing down her spine. The mighty Mayan Empire, who watched death without a sign of emotion, flinched at his wife's cries. Her back arched, lifting her chest off of the stone table. Her dark hair fell stuck to her slick back. Rain and sweat mixed on her body, completely exposed to the elements. On her head she wore a simple gold crown, as was fitting for the mighty Aztec empire even in such rawness.

Her back fell and hit the stone table again, drawing blood. Her head arched impossibly far back as she screamed again. Her fingers dug into the grooves on the side of the table, drawing blood as her fingernails broke. The arch priest started to chant as the rain poured down. He lit sage in the fire of one of the torches. The sweet smelling smoke lifted in the air. The woman convulsed again, her bruised back hitting the table again. Maya cried out, the pain of watching his strong wife suffer was too much. He begged for his wife to be saved at whatever cost. No one paid him any mind; he was not their strong nation.

Then a third voice joined the cacophony that filled the night, soft and gently crying. The baby emerged from Aztec's abused body screaming and crying. The priest took the squirming infant in his hands and cut the umbilical cord with a single stroke with an obsidian knife. The priest handed the screaming baby to Maya, who stared awestruck at his son. The heavy rain washed the blood off of the baby's copper skin. Aztec pulled in a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering open "My son…" She sat up with difficulty, but she didn't care about the pain. Nothing mattered but the son she had just brought into this world. She cried "Give me my son!" Maya placed the boy in his mother's arms. She stroked his forehead "Mexica, my son".

Maya wrapped his arm around her, half out of affection half to support her. He smiled "Our son". She nodded tiredly and Maya feared for a moment that she was going to pass out "Look how beautiful he is". The baby squirmed and cried, making his mother smile more "He is so fierce, he is a warrior for sure". Thunder crashed in the distance, all the priests turned and looked. The head priest turned back "It is an omen. This boy has a great destruction in his future".

For 3 years Mexica was able to grow and learn in his parent's influence. His mother was fierce and taught him about fighting. His father was calmer and gentler, but still firm, when his father died; Mexica was too young to know exactly what was going on. But he did remember that his mother cried for days, it was the first time he had ever seen her cry. The mighty Aztec Empire could kill thousands of mortals without a thought, or crush little tribes without a tear, but when The Mayan Empire disappeared she cried for days. The Mayan empire died of slow loss of people, it was slow and painful. Mexica had been very young, but he remembered what it felt like to lose someone. He also remembered that he had learned how to be clever from his father.

It wasn't long after that Aztec insisted on giving her son tattoos. Because of his young age, Aztec only gave him two, the band around his arm and the eagle on his back. For years after that, Aztec trained her son to take her place as the military might of America. Mexica was physically only 5 when word came from the coast with news of the "Square clouds" and the "white men". Mexica remembered clearly the first time he met Spain.

Aztec looked her son in the eyes and brushed back his hair "You have to be good, I want to impress this god-man". Mexica nodded and tried to stand up a little taller. He knew he would have to endure, even though the amount of gold and feathers he was wearing was uncomfortable. Aztec wore more than Mexica did; she looked almost like a goddess. They were not going to meet this white god-man in the city; they planned to meet him in the forest. They walked out to meet him accompanied by a few warriors; although Aztec wanted to meet him she didn't trust him that fully. When they met, Spain was also accompanied by a few men, clad in some strange silver stuff.

Mexica hadn't understood at the time what Spain had said when he first saw him, but now he knew. Spain looked directly at Mexica, not at Aztec and he muttered under his breath "So cute~". Mexica didn't understand the words, but he didn't like the look that Spain was giving him. It was almost as if those green eyes could see through what little clothes he had on. Aztec didn't miss the look either and she spoke to Spain "You are welcome here, until I know whether you really are a god or not. But I will make one thing clear to you; you are welcome to whatever gifts you like except my son". Spain glared at Aztec, but he spoke with false kindness "I'm sorry, I have not seen someone who looks like him before, that is all. Your world is very strange to me; I would like to know more about everything".

Mexica didn't like the way that Spain spoke, but he didn't know why. The men that stood behind him troubled Mexica more. They looked like the type of men who were brought only to fight and kill. Aztec and Spain talked a lot about gold and kings and other things that Mexica couldn't understand. But every so often, Spain would glance at Mexica and again Mexica's skin crawled. The meeting ended later than Mexica would have liked, but it was not too long. However Aztec was very happy with the way it ended. Mexica spoke as soon as they were far enough away "Mother, I don't like him", Aztec growled like a jungle cat "I don't either, he is no god. I expect he desires all I worked so hard to bring together. Worst of all, he wants you. He thinks I don't see it in his eyes. He will see what happens when he crosses me!"

Her step broke slightly and she coughed hard. Mexica didn't know what was wrong with his mother "Mama, are you alright?" She coughed again, much harder "I will be fine, it is just a passing sickness. The gods have bad timing, perhaps blood will appease them. Maybe they require the blood of the white man. I think I will give them the heart of this man they call Cortez." As soon as they were back at the city, Aztec was shouting orders to her warriors.

Mexica believed that if his mother had her full power, she would have easily made good on her threats. But a sickness took her quickly shortly after her meeting with Spain. It was so bad that she didn't fight with her army as she always did before, but nothing could stop her from commanding from her palace. Mexica tried to stay out of her way, even when he wanted to step in and tell her to rest. The sickness was only getting worse, slowed some by her immortal ability to heal. Mexica saw the same sickness take a mortal man in a week. But there was no mistaking that the sickness was deadly, and Mexica became more worried every day he saw his mother weaken. The day came when Spain was at the doors of their great island city.

Aztec and Mexica were in the throne room of the city. Aztec had lost much of her glory, her body was thinner and her long black hair was tangled. It was some mercy that her skin had been spared from the pocks that accompanied the disease. She still wore her gold; she was in her full war gear although she could not fight. She kneeled in front of Mexica and put her hands on his bare shoulders. Mexica noted that he could feel the bones of her hands through her skin. She looked in her sons eyes and the desperation in them scared him, she spoke "My son, my blood, I don't know if I will live through this, but you have to. You have to live and preserve my blood line." Mexica didn't understand what was happening, this was not like his mother "Mama, you can't die! I don't want you to!"

She stroked his face "I know little one, but if this is the will of the gods, then we cannot stop it. But he will not have you! You must hide if I tell you to hide; you must run if I tell you to run. It is not the way I taught you, but a warrior knows that he must run sometimes. Do you understand me?" Mexica refused to cry, he couldn't show that weakness. But his voice shook when he spoke "Yes, I understand. But Mama…" His mother hugged him "I love you, my son. I will die for you if I need to". There was a crash close by and the sound of metal against stone. Aztec's finders tightened into Mexica's arms, the desperation obvious in her eyes "You must hide now!" She released Mexica and he ducked into a small door that led to a tunnel.

The tunnel was only big enough for him and he knew he should run through it. But he couldn't leave his mother alone, he needed to see it. So he closed the doors over the tunnel so that just a small gap remained. Through it, Mexica could see his mother pick up a long obsidian spear. She stood up and faced the door, her face set and emotionless. The heavy doors banged open and through it came Spain, clad in armor. Spain pulled off his helmet so that the smile of triumph was clear on his face. He spoke and his joy was obvious in his voice "Give it up, savage. You know when you have been beaten." Aztec growled and crouched, blade at the ready "If I was even at half strength I could beat you!"

Spain leveled his sword, ready to strike "But you are not, God has sent plague against you. God approves of my quest". Aztec's voice was strong despite her weak state "Your god holds no sway here! Your quest is nothing but greed!" Spain took a step forward "Repent, and I will not kill you as a heretic. If you refuse, then I will kill you". Aztec replied quickly "I have nothing to repent for. But, I promise you this: I will kill you here or die". Her arms tensed on her spear and Spain rose his sword "So be it, you shall die".

The fight was swift; Aztec never really had a chance to win. Within seconds, her spear was on the other side of the room and Spain's sword was at her throat. Mexica bit into his own lip to keep from crying out, although tears rolled down the sides of his face. Spain lowered his sword so that the point was against Aztec's chest. He spoke one more time "This is your last chance, repent or die. At the very least, you must tell me where your son is". She grabbed the sword with both hands, blood running between his fingers "You can have my kingdom, if that is what you want. But I will never let you have my son!"

Mexica was sobbing, it was all he could do to keep from making noise, he had gone so far as to stuff his knuckles in his own mouth. Spain growled "You have chosen your fate". With that he pushed his sword through her chest, straight through her heart. She didn't scream, her head jerked back and blood ran from her mouth. Her eyes moved and she looked over at the place Mexica was hiding, her eyes found his for a second and she mouthed one word "Run".

Mexica couldn't keep silent anymore, he cried out. Spain heard the sound and turned to the place Mexica was hiding. Mexica realized his mistake too late, he tried to turn and run. He got out of the palace and hit the ground running. He didn't get far, before long he was surrounded by Spanish men. Spain walked up to the three surrounding Mexica, "Let me have him, I will take him under my protection from now on." Mexica tried to swallow his grief and hate "Where is my mother?" Spain's face was set, but his eyes showed his greed as he looked over Mexica "I thought my mind might be playing tricks on me. Your mother died of the sickness, there was nothing I could do for her. I plan to take you back to Madrid".

Mexica couldn't stop himself from speaking, he couldn't believe Spain was lying about his mother's death "No! You can't do that! This is my home, these are my people!" Spain kneeled and gently held Mexica's face in his hands "My people are your people now. My home is your home. And these barbarians are not your people. Let me teach you". Mexica wanted to run away, he didn't want to see Spain and his greedy eyes. But he couldn't because Spain held him. He started to cry for everything he knew he was losing. Spain pulled him into a hug "Shhh….don't cry. I am going to take good care of you". Mexica swore to himself at that moment that he would never forget and never forgive.


	2. Chapter 2

America interrupted "This is such a sad story. I suppose it is bad taste for me to say that you must have been adorable as a kid". Mexico laughed a little "Does taste ever stop you from saying anything?" America laughed "I guess not". Mexico smiled "You are sometimes the most insensitive person I know. I am pouring my heart out here!" America pulled Mexico closer to him and kissed his neck softly "You are so cute when you get all righteous". Mexico whimpered a little "I am never going to be able to finish the story if you keep doing that".

America ran his hand over the band on Mexico's arm "Do you think your mother had any idea how sensitive these would be". Mexico whimpered again, this time much louder "Alfred…..stop that, you know what it does to me". America buried his face in the crook of Mexico's neck "Mmmhmmm". Mexico retaliated by grabbing the lock of Alfred's hair that stuck out and rubbed it in between his fingers. America moaned a little and his back arched "Al-Alejandro. That's not fair!" Mexico smirked "All is fair in love and war, my dear Alfred".

America pulled away "So, what was the sickness, did you ever figure out?" Mexico nodded "It was smallpox, I am sure of it". America hugged Mexico tighter "I'm sorry Alejandro." Mexico shrugged "What is done is done, but I will never forgive Spain for what he did. Now do you want to hear the rest of the story, or would you rather fuck?" America kissed Mexico's neck again "I don't suppose I could have both". Mexico played with Nantucket a little more "Story now, fucking later". America growled in his ear "I love it when you order me around".  
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Spain's house was very large, but Mexica hated it. He refused to be called "new Spain" and spent several days in his room sulking. Spain tried many times to get him to come out for meals, to no avail. Spain eventually gave up and left the food outside of the door. Even when he dared to try the food, Mexica couldn't find any comfort of home in it. Spain's food was so different from what Mexica was used to, he refused to eat it until he got too hungry to resist. He wanted something that could remind him of home, of his parents, but he couldn't find any. He couldn't even smell home anymore, Spain had given him a bath as soon as he got to Madrid and cut his hair. Mexica had taken to running his hands through his newly short hair. It was so uncomfortable to him, he was used to having long hair that was more often or not braided and adorned with gold and feathers. He hated not being able to feel it on his also hated the stuffy clothing that Spain forced him to wear. The cloth was strange; it was at the same time too rough and too soft. Just having cloth on his skin was annoying. He pulled off his shirt whenever he was sure no one was watching.

He was presently sitting in the corner of his room with his shirt off. There was a knock on the door, Mexica ignored it. The knock came again louder, this time Mexica responded "Go away, España". He expected Spain to say something about trying to adjust, but it was a different voice that responded "I'm not Spain. C-can I come in?" Mexica walked over to the door and pushed it open. The boy standing outside of the door was darker skinned than Mexica with very short black hair. He was an inch taller than Mexica and already showed the signs of a strong build. Mexica looked him over before saying "You can come in if you really want to". The boy took a step inside the door and closed it behind him.

Mexica walked farther into the room, and then turned to see that his guest had not moved. He said in clumsy Spanish "You can come farther into the room than that". The boy took another step, his eyes fixed on Mexica. This time Mexica was actually angry "Is there something wrong with you?" The boy flinched and took a step back "Please, Spain just sent me to try to talk to you. I d-didn't mean to offend you". Then Mexica figured it out "Are you scared of me?" The boy nodded and looked at his feet. Mexica sighed and walked over to him; he grabbed the boys hand and dragged him to the middle of the room. It was harder than he expected because the other boy was so much larger than him. He really wanted to slap the boy, but he decided against it "Can you at least tell me your name? Country and casual, please".

The other was trembling now, and to stop himself he sat down on the thick rug "I am Cuba, but you can call me Carlos". Mexica sat on the rug next to Cuba and started picking at the rug irritably "I suppose you know me as New Spain and Spain also likes to call me Alejandro. But you should also know that I despise both names, if you really become my friend then I will tell you my real name". He smiled for a second; it was the first time since he had come to Spain. Cuba had a shocked look on his face, almost like he had just been slapped "I-uh-well-uh". Mexica laughed at how flustered Cuba was "I'm messing with you! I'm sorry, that was cruel. You are obviously wondering something about me, ask away."

Cuba didn't seem to relax at all "is it true? That you are the son of Aztec?" The name struck a chord in Mexica's heart, the wound was still very raw "Yes, my mother was Aztec and my father was Mayan.". Carlos's eyes grew wider "Really? Is it true that she cut out the hearts of her enemies and burned them?" What levity Mexica had had vanished when he had to talk about his Mother "Yeah, that actually happened. I saw it a few times. If you don't mind, I would rather not talk about my mother". Cuba flinched again "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to upset you. How about I let you ask questions? I'm sure you have a lot, I did when I first got here."

Mexica tried to turn his thoughts away from his mother "How long have you been here?" Cuba answered almost at once "A few years, I haven't really been counting". Cuba was starting to relax a little in the familiarity and Mexica was glad for it "Does it get easier?" Cuba looked at him with sad understanding "Yes, it does". Mexica smiled weakly "That's good to know. I have one other question". He walked over to where his dinner sat untouched and picked up a fork "How is this thing used?" Cuba looked at him incredulously for a second and then burst into laughter. Mexica felt very humiliated for a moment "I'm being serious! I have no idea what this is". Cuba stood up and walked over to Mexica "It's called a fork, it's used like this". He took the fork from Mexica and stabbed a sausage off of the plate. He held it up to Mexica "Do you actually intend to eat this". Mexica shrugged "I'm not hungry", his stomach growled loudly. Cuba rolled his eyes "Not eating is not going to help anything. Eat this, it's very good". Mexica gave up and bit the sausage off the fork, it was better than he expected, strange but not bad. He spoke through a mouth full of sausage "You're right, this is good".

Cuba laughed again "You are kind of cute, you know that?" Mexica smacked Cuba playfully on the shoulder "I am not cute! Do you mind giving me more?" Cuba grabbed the plate and walked over to the middle of the room and sat on the rug "Come here". Mexica walked over and sat next to him "So I guess you aren't scared of me anymore". Cuba stabbed another piece of sausage and held it up for Mexica "Well, you are rather scary when you're angry. But right now you're not". Mexica smiled, a genuine smile, before taking another bite.

Cuba continued feeding Mexica "Let me give you some advice, if you just give Spain what he wants things will go a lot smoother". Mexica shrugged "I don't care what he wants; I refuse to play at being his younger brother". Cuba glared at him "That wouldn't be a good idea. Spain has been very good to you so far, but if you keep defying him he will get angry."  
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Spain was sitting in his room reading the Bible. Mexica walked into the room and cleared his throat rather loudly. Spain looked up from his book "Ah, Alejandro, I see you have decided to come out of your room". Mexica nodded "You sent Cuba to talk to me and he was very nice". Spain nodded "I guessed he would be. Come here, hermano". Mexica didn't want to, but he told himself he had to. He walked over to Spain. Spain's eyes never left him as he walked. When he got to Spain, Spain picked him up and placed him in his lap.

Mexica didn't like being so close to Spain, he wanted to leave. But he forced himself to endure. Spain smiled "I'm very glad that you have decided to speak to me. How are you finding Spanish? Are you learning quickly?" Mexica nodded, "I have been learning". Spain stroked his face lightly "Very good, I am glad you're taking on your role as New Spain. Now that you have learned some of my language, I have something else I want to teach you". Spain opened the Bible and read a little in Latin, and then he spoke in Spanish again "This is the testament of the true God and his son who died for our sins. You will find this somewhat gentler than that pagan religion your mother followed".

Mexica glanced away for Spain, but forced himself to look back "If it pleases you, I will learn". Spain smiled "You are really a good boy", then he kissed Mexica lightly on the forehead "Now, let's begin with Genesis"


	3. Chapter 3

A few years passed, although Mexica aged much faster. As soon as he started accepting Spain's education he started to age very quickly. He went from physically being 5 to being 14, and then he started aging slower again. Spain somewhat lamented that New Spain aged so fast "I can't hold you on my lap anymore, I have to tutor you the normal way".

But New Spain was happy about it; people stopped treating him like a child. It also gave him the chance to learn to ride, something that Spain had objected to him doing for a long time for fear that he would fall and hurt himself. He also learned to read in Spanish, English and Latin. Even Spain commented on how clever New Spain was, and he, although he would never say it in front of Spain, thanked his father for his intelligence.

"Are you ever going to go to sleep? How many more times can you read that book?" Cuba grumbled as he turned in his bed to glare at New Spain. Spain had decided to put them in the same room to keep each other company. New Spain glanced over at his roommate "It's the bible; I can't read it too many times. Have you ever actually read it?" Cuba shook his head sleepily "I don't read Latin, Antonio has told me what I need to know about it". New Spain replied "But there is so much more here to read and understand. There is this figure that Spain almost completely ignores, The Virgin Mary. Why should we pray to the son and not to the Madonna?"

Cuba groaned and rolled over "Can't we debate theology tomorrow, after I have gotten some sleep?" New Spain ignored him "And these stories, Spain won't tell you half of these. This is so open to interpretation!" Cuba groaned again "If you don't shut up, I am going to come over there and put out that lamp myself!" New Spain ignored him again, more to spite him than anything "You really should read this sometime, or maybe I will read it to you".

Cuba pushed himself off of his bed and gracelessly lunged over the gap between their beds. He tackled New Spain, sending the book flying. New Spain retaliated by hitting Cuba over the head with a pillow. Within a few seconds the pair of them were wrestling and making a ruckus. "Ay! Can you two restrain your sexual tension for one night! The rest of us are trying to sleep!" New Spain turned to see Peru glaring at them.

Then another voice spoke behind them "Or maybe since we are all up anyway, we can have some fun with it". Peru made a disapproving noise in his throat, but Columbia just smiled. Chile, Peru's brother, appeared at his elbow. Columbia held up a glass bottle "Look what I snitched from Spain's cellar". Cuba gasped "You can't have that! Spain has forbidden us from drinking". Columbia smiled slyly "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. We deserve to have some fun now and again". Bolivia, the third of the Inca born brothers, appeared from behind Cuba and tackled him "Don't worry so much".

The three Inca brothers were almost identical, although they differed in age. They were all three thin and lanky with sharp angular features. Chile was the youngest and Peru was the oldest. As for Columbia, no one asked who his parents were. He was good looking, but in the kind of way that made him look mischievous. He almost always smirked. No one was really surprised that he was the one to steal Spain's wine. Colombia conjured a glass out of midair "Here's the deal, we will have some contests, and each time someone loses, they drink".

Bolivia smirked "I'll play that game". Chile simply nodded; Peru smirked more wickedly than Columbia had "I will play if my holy lord Mexica will". New Spain glared at him "I might be wrong, but I think you are mocking me. In which case, I will punish you by beating you in all these challenges". Cuba looked at the two of them pleadingly "Both of you know that this is forbidden". There existed a rivalry between Peru and New Spain that everyone was aware of. Both of them bid to outdo each other in everything, and Cuba already knew that he wouldn't get either of them to see reason.

Columbia looked at Cuba expectantly "Are you too good to play our games?" Cuba glanced around at the others before saying "Fine! Have it your way". Columbia produced a deck of cards from somewhere and started shuffling "You know I always do. Shall we play poker first?" Chile, always the silent one, dragged a table in-between the two beds and the boys arranged themselves around it. The way it turned out, The Inca brothers were on one side and Mexico, Cuba, and Columbia were on the other.

Columbia started dealing "Here is the way it is going to work, when you fold, you drink, when you lose, you drink. The only way to not drink is to win". He dealt quickly, distributing 2 cards to each person "Also, I have a little gold we can play for. Of course, I don't expect to lose any of it to the likes of you". New Spain flashed a smile at him "We will see about that, dear brother". Columbia placed a large pile of gold coins on the table then distributed them between the six of them. New Spain counted his coins quickly then glanced at his cards. He placed 10 coins, a fifth of his pile, in the center of the table. The others eyed him suspiciously, he glared back unfazed.

Cuba glanced down at his cards and then threw the 2 and 3 in the middle of the table "I fold. Pass that wine". Columbia smirked, poured a glass, and handed it to Cuba. Cuba took a tentative drink, obviously hesitant to go against Spain's rules. They all watched him drink and then laughed at the look of surprise on Cuba's face. Peru matched New Spain's bet. Bolivia did the same. Chile silently folded and took a drink of wine. Columbia matched the bet and added 2 more coins before placing one card face up on the middle of the table.

New Spain looked at the card and then back at his own cards, and then he added 5 more coins to the pile. Peru matched him without even glancing at his cards. Bolivia took a long look at his cards before folding. Bolivia took a small drink from the glass. Peru glared at New Spain "You are going to fold next, I guarantee it." New Spain smirked "You are wrong, you will fold next". Columbia smirked at the two of them "We shall see"; he turned over the next card. New Spain glanced at it and then smiled at Peru "It looks like you are wrong" and he threw in another 5 coins. Peru glared at him "I do not intend to lose to you"; he matched New Spain's coins.

Columbia looked at his cards and then sighed "Damn it all, I fold". He took the cup and emptied it then he filled it again. New Spain's eyes were fixed on Peru's, daring him to continue. New Spain pushed his whole pile of coins into the middle. Peru looked doubtfully down at his cards and then decided to give up. He folded "Alright, Mexica, let's see what you have". New Spain threw down his cards with a smirk. Peru looked at them for a moment, his jaw dropping, and then looked back at New Spain "You didn't have shit!" New Spain broke into gales of laughter "I was bluffing!" Peru swore under his breath as New Spain pulled the pile of coins towards him.

Columbia looked at New Spain and half-purred "That was reckless of you." Cuba scoffed "More like very stupid". New Spain laughed again "If you ask me, there is no point in betting if you aren't willing to bet it all. And if you aren't prepared to lose it all". Peru glared daggers at New Spain "We should try something else, unless we all want to lose our money to Mexica. How about a simple game of truth or dare? If you refuse to do a dare or tell a truth, you drink". Columbia smirked "To make the deal a little sweeter, when someone does complete a dare, the person who asks them must drink."

Chile shrugged; again he was the silent one. Columbia's eyes glittered mischievously "Alright, Carlos first. I dare you to make no more objections tonight about our games". Cuba grudgingly said "Fine". Columbia took another drink from the glass. Peru spoke "I have one for Enrique". Columbia shrugged "Go ahead, I will take whatever dare you propose". Peru smirked and leaned over to whisper in Columbia's ear. Columbia looked utterly shocked for a minute "You have got to be kidding me". Peru shrugged "Well, if you aren't willing to do it..." Columbia looked undecided for a second, but his pride took over "Of course I am going to do it". For once Columbia was not smirking, and then the smirk returned.

New Spain, who was sitting next to him, looked over at him curiously. Then without any warning, Columbia forced his lips against New Spain's. New Spain attempted to push Columbia away, but to no avail. Columbia gently held New Spain's face as he kissed him. New Spain stopped trying to struggle; despite himself he was enjoying this. He started kissing Columbia back and he could taste the wine on his lips. It was so good, and something about this was so right. He suddenly needed more; if this was to be his first kiss he wanted it to be amazing. He gasped as Columbia forced his lips open and pushed his own tongue into New Spain's mouth.

All the others were staring and gasping, Cuba looked hurt. New Spain began to dominate Columbia. Peru finally broke the moment "What the Hell!" They broke apart, New Spain breathing heavily. He stared at Columbia, both puzzled and enthralled. Columbia licked his lips fiercely, as though he could not get enough of the taste. Peru was still livid "What the Hell were you doing?" Columbia looked away from New Spain to Peru "I did exactly what you dared me to do". New Spain couldn't stand everyone looking at him like that. His heart was racing more than ever now. He felt Cuba's eyes on him, and he felt ashamed.

Suddenly he was angry and he wasn't sure why "You bastard! That was uncalled for! You should have turned it down". Columbia looked genuinely hurt "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to go that far. I couldn't help it…" New Spain made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat "Let's just move on"  
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Alfred's arms tightened around Mexico's torso protectively "I am going to have to talk to Enrique about this incident". Mexico sighed exasperatedly "Alfred, I think you would have noticed if I still had any feelings for him". America made a very disapproving sound "Still? You mean you had feelings for him then". Mexico turned around and kissed America on the lips, and then he broke it and spoke "You worry too much. He is no threat to you." America kissed Mexico again, more hungrily, speaking as he did so "You…Mmmm…Don't have a good record with…Mmmm…Fidelity".

Mexico broke the kiss and pulled back a little "Who have you been talking to?" America looked slightly taken aback "Well…ummm…Catalina has been trying to advise me about you". Mexico threw his hands up in exasperation "Ay! I swear that woman is out to ruin my love life! Did she tell you I will fuck anything that has two legs and moves?" America looked even more taken aback "Yeah….it was something like that". Mexico sighed again, louder this time "My dear ex-girlfriend thinks so highly of me". America laughed bitterly "Weren't you two engaged at some point?" Mexico nodded "I will get to that eventually if you ever let me finish my story".

America hugged Mexico again "Go ahead, I am listening". Mexico spoke softly in America's ear "You need to promise me you won't get jealous of my past relationships". America kissed the back of Mexico's neck "I can try to do that, but if you describe sex with anyone else, I will have to say something"  
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New Spain lay in bed staring at the wall, his mind reeling. One thought came to him over and over again: Homosexuality is a sin. He knew it was true, but he wished it wasn't with all his heart. Despite himself, he had enjoyed that kiss so much. He needed to confess to a priest to purge this sin. He glanced over at Cuba, who was fast asleep, and then he stood up. He snuck out of the room without making a sound. He was soon out and walking down the hall quickly, there was a chapel adjoined to the house in case anyone needed it.

Then New Spain reached the door and he heard a sound. It sounded like someone speaking; he almost thought it sounded like Columbia. He pressed his ear against the door and heard "God forgive me, I feel lust for another man". Mexico couldn't believe what he was hearing; Columbia actually meant it when he kissed him. A sudden rash, stupid thought occurred to him. His slightly wine infused mind did nothing to stop him.

He threw open the door of the church and walked across the floor. His bare feet didn't make a sound of the flagstones. He saw that Columbia was kneeling in front of the altar praying. Mexico took a deep breath before saying "So you felt it too?" Columbia turned around quickly and stared at New Spain "When did you-". New Spain shrugged "Just now, I heard you". Columbia stood up and his smirk returned, there was something hungry about it "Did you say you felt it?" New Spain's heart quickened at the burning gaze "I felt something. Something that felt like sin. I need to purge myself of it, that's all."

Columbia looked as if he was trying to judge New Spain's resolve "Why should we purge it when we both feel it?" New Spain walked up to Columbia, so that there were only a few inches between them "Nothing happened tonight. We didn't do anything. Forget. About. It.". Columbia looked determined and hungry, very hungry "I can't forget about it. Can you?" Columbia closed the space between them and put his hands on New Spain's waist. New Spain felt hot and strangely savage "Don't do this, don't tempt me".

New Spain seemed to have said something wrong; Columbia's smile widened "You are tempted then. Give in to temptation". Columbia brushed his lips against New Spain's. New Spain couldn't stand it; he pushed Columbia away "This is a sin! I serve God and I will not betray Him like this! Especially not in this holy place". New Spain turned away from Columbia; he couldn't stand to look at him. Columbia wrapped his arms around New Spain from behind and whispered seductively in his ear "Say that one more time in that cute way you do, like you actually believe it. One more time for me, mi amor". New Spain's heart was beating faster than ever now "You….You…" Columbia licked New Spain's ear "I just want you; I have for a long time".

Mexica's Aztec blood ignited and suddenly he needed to dominate. He turned around quickly and kissed Columbia full on the lips. Columbia was taken by surprise and he stepped back "What the?" Mexica felt his blood on fire, a strange smirk curled across his face "I thought you wanted this. You do, don't you?" Columbia looked confused for the first time that night "I do…but something has come over you". Mexica grabbed Columbia around the waist and pulled him close "You don't know me, not the real me. I am of Aztec blood and I will not be dominated, especially not by you".

Columbia looked shell shocked for a second and then said "I understand, I can be whatever you need, as long as I get you". Mexica smashed his lips against Columbia's. Mexica couldn't say he honestly loved Columbia, but he was fascinated by the boy. He wanted to know what love was like, but this wasn't love. His Aztec blood told him that he could play with this eager boy for pleasure then throw him away. Somehow all the morals that he had learned from Spain disappeared. He deepened the kiss and buried one of his hands in Columbia's hair.

Somehow he knew that he had to pull away now if he wanted to keep Columbia's appetite wetted. He pulled away, and allowed Columbia a moment to look over him hungrily before he turned away. Columbia called after him "You can't just leave me like this". Mexica, who had been walking away, turned back around "If you want me, then you are going to have to pursue me, I am not that easy". He turned and walked out. It took a few minutes to realize exactly what he had done. He needed to find some way to correct it.


	4. Chapter 4

New Spain took to riding more and more to get his mind off of things. He was avoiding Columbia to the best of his abilities, even though he knew it would only make Columbia more desperate. He rode further and further away from Spain's home each time he went out. He liked the feel of the wind in his hair, which was as long as Spain would allow, and he loved the feeling of the horse between his legs. The woods closed around him and he lost track of where he was.

His mind jumped from subject to subject and it kept coming back to Columbia. How would he tell Columbia to stop thinking about him when he had led him on like that? Steel flashed in front of him. He stopped as quickly as he could and turned to face the man. He was the same height as Spain with slightly darker hair tied back into a medium length ponytail. But most importantly, he had a thin sword to New Spain's throat, and then he spoke with an accent that wasn't quite Spanish "My, my, look what just rode into my territory. Who would think that my brother's prized colony would come so easily within my reach?"

Then New Spain realized who this man must be. Portugal, otherwise known as Phillip, Spain's younger brother. Spain and Portugal hated each other; they also lusted for each other's territories. New Spain knew he must have ridden into Portuguese territory. He tried to form words "I didn't mean to intrude". Portugal flicked his sword slightly, so it left a tiny cut "I didn't give you permission to speak, boy". He put especial emphasis on the last word. Portugal smirked a little and spoke again "You're lucky you have such a pretty little head, or I might remove it from your shoulders, boy".

New Spain was almost shaking; right now he wished he could use a sword. Portugal spoke again, he seemed to be enjoying this "Tell me, boy, do you know how to use a sword?" New Spain was puzzled by the question "No I don't, Antonio doesn't let me". Portugal laughed "That's just like him; he isn't as much of a fool as I thought. Would you like to learn, boy?" New Spain was very confused. Was Portugal offering to teach him? He spoke before Portugal could demand he do so "I would like to learn. But why would you offer to teach me?"

Portugal sheathed his sword "Because you hate Spain almost as much as I do". New Spain replied quickly "How can you know what I feel?" Portugal looked almost exasperated "Antonio killed your mother; I don't think you would forget something like that. I also don't think you could ever forgive him for it". Mexico felt like Portugal read his heart. No one knew that he knew about what Spain had done that day, it was impossible that Portugal did

"My mother died of illness". Portugal laughed again "That's a neat trick, you move your lips and Spain's voice comes out. You know that isn't true, she was too strong for that. Don't try to lie to me, boy". It had been a long time since New Spain had talked about his mother, and it hurt. He tried to push away the pain "What do you think I could possibly do?" He was sure he already knew what Portugal was going to say, but he wanted to hear him say it. Portugal could tell exactly what New Spain wanted to hear "Raise an army, rebel against him, win your freedom".

As much as New Spain knew Portugal was going to say that, he was still shocked to hear it "I wouldn't have a chance, he is a powerful empire". Portugal gave him an exasperated look "If anyone could do it, it's you. He loves you more than his other colonies and wouldn't see it coming from you. And most importantly, you want it more than anyone else, boy". Mexico tried to detect a lie in the offer, it seemed to be too good to be true "And what's in it for you? What would you do if I refused?" Portugal smiled "You have a decent head on your shoulders, boy. Only an idiot would accept a seemingly one-sided offer. I will get Spain's financial ruin, not to mention his shaming. You don't need to accept my offer, that's up to you, boy."

He turned and started to ride away, glancing over his shoulder at New Spain "If you want to learn how to swordfight, then follow me. If you want to stay Antonio's pet then you can go back." New Spain glanced back at Spain's house, and then he glanced back at Portugal's back. He knew he shouldn't follow Portugal, but the idea of being able to fight intrigued him. He had fight in his blood, he couldn't really stop himself. He looked back one more time before he followed Portugal.

Portugal's house was smaller than Spain's, but the decorations were no less lavish. The middle of the biggest room was cleared in the middle. He followed Portugal into the middle of the room; Portugal grabbed a pair of wooden swords on the way. He threw one of the swords to New Spain, who caught it easily. It was much heavier than he expected it to be. Portugal looked at him "You are holding it wrong, boy. It is not a battle ax that needs two hands".

New Spain experimentally took one hand off the grip of the sword and found it hard to hold. He was determined to master sword fighting as well as he had mastered riding. Portugal smiled "Now you are doing it right, boy. Now I want you to try and hit me". New Spain gawked at Portugal "Are you serious?". Portugal shrugged "I need to see what you can do without any training. I don't think you are actually going to land anything". New Spain growled "We will see about that" then he lunged at Portugal.

Portugal parried easly and tapped New Spain lightly in the ribs with the point of his wooden sword "You're dead already". New Spain pulled back and tried a hit from a different direction, he missed again and again Portugal tapped him lightly on the back "Dead again, boy". New Spain was starting to get frustrated, he attacked again. This time Portugal was able to hit the back of New Spain's hand, causing him to drop the sword. Portugal picked up the sword and handed it back to New Spain, saying as he did so "Don't let your anger control your actions, it makes you easy to read. The key to swordplay is that you don't wear your heart on your sleeve". New Spain nodded and attempted to calm himself.

Twenty minutes passed and New Spain actually improved, he managed to not get himself "killed" as much. They were in the middle of a round of heavy dueling when he heard a soft feminine voice "Irmão, why did you bring some Spanish boy here?". New Spain turned to look at the pretty girl standing in the door way, which earned him a smack on the back of the head from Portugal. She was about the same age as New Spain, with long dark curly hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She was very pretty, her dark eyes were clever. The most noticeable thing about her was that she wasn't wearing a dress, instead she was wearing pants and a loose shirt, not unlike what New Spain was wearing.

New Spain attempted to speak "This really isn't my fault, Phillip-". The girl cut him off "I wasn't talking to you, pretty boy. Phillip, we need to talk later". With that she turned and left. New Spain watched her leave and resisted the urge to wolf whistle. Portugal laughed softly "It looks like Brazil has taken a liking to you". New Spain looked over at him incredeusly "Did we just see the same thing or are you just crazy?". Portugal laughed again "Brazil is very defensive, but that's how she shows she cares. Let's continue with practice"


	5. Chapter 5

They settled into a rhythm, a couple times a week they practiced in secret. By the end of the first two weeks, New Spain was exhausted and sore all over. He had done a fairly good job of concealing the scrapes and bruises from everyone. No one would believe that the bruises were from clumsiness, because New Spain was very rarely clumsy. Aside from being incredibly educational, the lessons allowed him to spend a lot of time outside of the house, where he was likely to run into Colombia. His attempts at avoiding Colombia had actually been very successful. He hadn't seen Enrique since that night and he was glad of it.

He closed his eyes and let his muscles relax in the hot water. The bath was exactly what he needed, all his muscles hurt as well as his skin being adorned with bruises. He tipped his head back so his long dark hair was wet. It felt so good that he moaned slightly. He rubbed his sore muscles aggressively, trying to get rid of some of the pain. The water started to go cold and New Spain was forced to finally get out.

The air wasn't cold, but it wasn't as warm as the bath water had been. He grabbed a soft cotton towel and dried himself off. He looked out the window at the night outside, it was captivating and cloudless. When he had been younger he had taken to lying on the grass and pointing out constellations with whoever would put up with him. Tonight was one of the times that he wished he could do it again. He sighed and continued to dry himself off. He grabbed a loose shirt and light trousers. He pulled them on quickly.

He walked out the door and down the hallway. He replayed his last lesson with Portugal over and over again in his head. He should have parried there and then blocked there, then he wouldn't have the angry purple bruise across his shoulder. In his musings he didn't notice a set of eyes watching his every move. New Spain reached his bedroom and tread carefully to not wake Cuba. He pulled off his shirt and slipped into bed. If felt extremely good to lay down, his whole body was tired and sore from his training. As soon as his head hit the soft pillow he fell asleep.

He was nearly completely asleep when he felt soft hands on his shoulders. He groggily made a noise of surprise. A soft voice spoke in his ear "You have been avoiding me." New Spain groaned "Enrique, this isn't the time or the place." Colombia whispered back "I can't find you any other time, so it has to be now. And I rather like being in your bed with you". New Spain muttered sleepily "I haven't been avoiding you". Colombia's hands softly brushed over New Spain's shoulders "Don't lie to me, I know you have. Do you feel nothing for me, is that why you're avoiding me?" New Spain whispered back "If I said I didn't feel anything, what would you do?"

New Spain felt Colombia's lips brush against his shoulder "I would probably hurl myself off the tallest thing I could find". New Spain turned himself around and looked at Colombia "Well you don't have to do that. I would be lying if I said I feel nothing for you". New Spain wasn't completely lying, he felt quite a lot at that moment, mostly annoyance and a strange fascination. He tilted Colombia's face upwards and kissed his lips lightly. Colombia's hands moved from New Spain's shoulders to his chest. He brushed against a bruise and New Spain winced slightly.

Colombia kissed the spot lightly and whispered "Poor thing, what have you been doing? Have you been fighting?" New Spain vaguely wondered how Colombia jumped to that conclusion "Yeah, something like that". Colombia whispered back "You must be sore. Turn around and I will rub your back". New Spain decided not to argue about it, he saw nothing wrong with getting a back rub. Colombia's hands were much more talented than New Spain expected and they felt amazing rubbing his shoulders. He moaned slightly, he could almost see Colombia smirk "Now there is a sound that I have never heard you make before. But I would love to hear it again".

He rubbed a little harder and New Spain half groaned "That feels so good". Colombia rubbed a little lower on his back "You're so tight in the shoulders. What have you been doing?" New Spain shrugged slightly "That's for me to know and you to never find out". Colombia didn't stop rubbing New Spain's shoulders "I hope you don't have some secret lover who is tiring you out". New Spain whispered back "What kind of sinner do I look like to you? I would not indulge in the sins of the flesh". Colombia sighed "Despite the fact that you very nearly seduced me two weeks ago?"

New Spain sighed; he knew it would always come back to this "I was intoxicated and not thinking fully". Colombia laughed "I was drunker than you were; you hardly had any wine at all". New Spain was about to respond when Colombia's finger brushed against something on his back that sent sparks racing through his body "Ah~". He knew that Colombia was smirking more than ever now and he heard Colombia's voice softly in his ear "What is this? You seem to have a spot like Roma's curl that Tony is so fond of".

He ran his fingers in small circles over the same spot, making New Spain arch his back and moan rather loudly. He clapped his hand over his own mouth to stop himself from making too much noise. With his other arm he pushed down the sheet, which now felt suffocatingly hot. Colombia gasped slightly "I had no idea you had tattoos, they are so…savage". He purred the last word as if it was a compliment. New Spain didn't realize no one had seen his back aside from Cuba, and Cuba had never commented on the tattoos. But Cuba had a habit of looking away and blushing whenever New Spain took off his shirt. He realized that the part of his back that Colombia was rubbing was the eagle tattoo.

He turned around, effectively cutting off Colombia's access to his back; he also grabbed both of Colombia's wrists "I thought we already had a conversation about you being dominant." New Spain could feel himself sinking into a savage longing again. He was becoming Mexica again. There was a part of him that burned with a need to express his deep pent up sexual energy. But now that he was looking at Colombia again in the soft light, he saw a beauty he hadn't seen before.

Colombia was really good looking with a balance of sharp angles in his high cheekbones and the supple curve of his lips. The smirk that Colombia always had was very sexy, as was the way his short dark hair fell on his forehead. Mexica smiled slyly and used one hand to trap both of Colombia's wrists, the other hand went to Colombia's face "Enrique, you are so beautiful, especially when you are begging for me. You could have anyone. Why do you want me?". Colombia smirked again "You have this the wrong way around, you are perfect and you have no reason to want me."

Colombia changed the subject slightly and kept talking "You know how everyone is supposed to start dreaming about girls. You know the kind of dreams about lips and bare skin?" New Spain unconsciously released Colombia's wrists, and he nodded. Colombia continued "Well, I had those sorts of dreams, but not about girls. I dreamt about you". New Spain didn't feel the need to tell Colombia what he dreamed of. But Colombia's honesty for some reason gave New Spain the powerful need to kiss him. Their lips touched forcefully and New Spain took dominance at once. He pulled the boy against his bare chest. He could feel his savage instincts kicking in, but he kept them under control.

He nipped Colombia's lower lip lightly, asking for entrance, which Colombia granted him. He pushed his tongue into Colombia's mouth, exploring the crevices and the taste of it. He felt Colombia arch against him. Colombia moaned slightly into the kiss. New Spain saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and moved quickly to disentangle himself from Colombia and pull up the sheet. Cuba mumbled sleepily "Were you speaking just now? I heard someone's voice". New Spain said back, attempting to feign sleepiness "I have been asleep, you have been dreaming. Go back to sleep". Cuba mumbled something incoherent and turned back over. New Spain turned to Colombia "Enrique, you should go. I don't want anyone to find me with you"


	6. Chapter 6

America scoffed "That is the worst pick-up line I have ever heard 'I dream about you'". Mexico had lit a cigarette while he was talking and now he took a long pull from it "I was 14 and no one had ever told me they loved me. I was fascinated by the idea of having someone there for me". America smiled and gestured for Mexico to give him the cigarette "So how long did it last? You and Enrique?". Mexico's voice took on a sad tone as he handed America the cigarette "Depends who you ask, for me it lasted one night or at least the first time".

America took a pull from the cigarette "I hope whatever this is is legal in my home". Mexico smirked slyly "I'm not up to date on your laws, so I wouldn't know". America handed Mexico the cigarette "So what happened the next morning?". Mexico glanced over at America before continuing "Carlos would later tell me that he was the one who told Spain, but only because he thought he had to.". America responded "So, what did Spain do about it?". Mexico took another long pull "Well, he summoned me to his office, and then things got really bad"  
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New Spain knocked lightly on Spain's office door, half hoping that no one would answer. Unfortunately he had no such luck. He heard Spain's voice from the other side of the door "Come in, Alejandro". New Spain winced slightly before pushing the door open and walking in, he didn't know exactly what was going on, but he could hear he was in trouble from Spain's voice. Spain was sitting at his desk, and he looked mad. He gestured sharply to the chair across from him "Sit.". New Spain made a mental note that Spain must be very angry if he was giving one word commands.

He sat quickly, he still had no idea what this was about. He figured that he better hold his tongue and do whatever Spain wanted of him. Spain ran his hands agitatedly over his desk, although there was nothing on it "I have just talked to Enrique about this matter". Then it hit him, this must be about him and Enrique. New Spain faked ignorance, he knew he needed to be as innocent as possible "I still don't understand what this is about". Spain gave him a look that clearly said he didn't believe him "I think you understand perfectly well.". Spain stood up and walked around the room "I didn't want to believe it at first. I was inclined to believe better of you, especially you". New Spain gave up all pretense of not knowing "I know what the church says about homosexuality, but-".

Spain interrupted him "I give you everything, the roof over your head, the food you eat. You owe me everything". Spain walked around behind New Spain's chair then he stopped and rested his hands on the back of the chair "You owe me everything, so why do you betray me like this? You are my favorite colony, you know that, but I will not tolerate this disloyalty". New Spain felt his temper rising "It's not disloyalty! I can't see what I did that was so wrong.". Spain walked around the chair again so he was in front of the chair. For the first time during the meeting, New Spain saw the conquistador in Spain again. There was a greed in his eyes that New Spain had not seen in a long time.

Then Spain abruptly sat in New Spain's lap "You forget yourself, Mexica". Spain's voice changed slightly, now it was more dominant and sensual, like it was on the day he stole Mexica. Spain hadn't used New Spain's birth name since he had given him another name. Spain spoke in New Spain's ear "I took you and gave you all I have. You belong to me. I own you". New Spain felt a shiver go down his spine, he wanted more than anything to be far away from Spain. Spain grabbed New Spain's chin and forced their eyes to meet. He growled "Look at me". New Spain looked into those hungry green eyes and felt utterly helpless. He couldn't do anything to stop Spain, but he felt so uncomfortable. Spain leaned forward and kissed New Spain full on the lips. Almost at once New Spain realized how clumsy he was at kissing Colombia, Spain's skill far outstripped his own. Spain's skilled lips coaxed open New Spain's lips and forced his tongue into New Spain's mouth.

Spain's hold on New Spain's chin was not gentle, the pressure on his jaw kept him from trying to keep Spain's greedy tongue out. Spain's skilled tongue explored every part of New Spain's mouth. Against his better judgment, he bit down on Spain's tongue. Spain's other hand slammed into the chair right next to New Spain's head, and pulled back and said "Are you trying to defy me?". New Spain shook his head stiffly. Spain purred "Good, then be a good boy for me.". Spain kissed him hard again, but this time was much shorter. Then he pulled away again.

His hand slipped under New Spain's shirt and lightly traced New Spain's chest. Spain spoke "I have wanted you like this for the longest time." His hand found one of New Spain's nipples and he grabbed it agressivly. New Spain gasped, but he stopped himself from objecting. Spain continued talking in a lusty whisper "I knew you were too young for me to take advantage of you. I told myself I could wait for you to be ready". Spain twisted the nipple between his fingers and New Spain mewled loudly. He hated himself for the noises he was making and the fact that he was enjoying this. He didn't hate the feeling, he just wanted it to be anyone but Spain. Spain continued "But when I heard of you and Enrique, I knew you were ready. Anything Colombia can do with you, I can as well". Spain's hand that was not on his nipple slipped lower and dipped beneath the waist of New Spain's pants; Spain whispered "You are so young and so…sensitive".

Spain's treatment of his nipple had made him shamefully hard, something that Spain did not fail to notice. Spain softly stroked him and he involuntarily arched his back. He finally felt that he had to object "No. It never went that far, with me and Enrique". Spain stopped for a moment "Oh, you didn't? You need to tell me what I wanted to hear, or else how can I forgive you for letting someone else touch you.". Spain's touch remained gentle, but his strokes became more aggressive "Tell me that Enrique seduced you against your will and all the blame will rest on him. If you choose not to tell me that, then I will have to strip you of your privileges.". Spain's other hand slipped under New Spain's shirt and went to his back, specifically the tattoo. New Spain could hardly say anything over the waves of pleasure Spain was calling forth. He hated himself for the shameful noises slipping from between his lips.

Spain pressed his advantage "So, are you going to tell me what I want to hear?". New Spain drew in a deep gasping breath and willed himself not to start crying. He got his voice somewhat under control before saying "What will happen to Enrique if I say he did?". Spain said bluntly "I will send him back to the Americas to spend 10-20 years in the land he represents. He would also lose all privileges he has here". New Spain considered the punishment. He didn't want to cause Colombia pain, he felt deeply for the other boy. But he also didn't want to risk his own status and his ability to train with Portugal.

Then he spoke "Then he did. He seduced me, I wasn't at fault". Spain smiled "I will make the necessary arrangements then. But you should know, I will not be forgiving if this happens again.". New Spain nodded "You don't want me with anyone". Spain responded "No, I just do not want you with another man.". New Spain looked at him puzzled "So I can be with women?". Spain nodded "I don't get jealous that way". New Spain nodded and looked away.


	7. Chapter 7

The dock was incredibly crowded and bustling while the ship was loading. New Spain pushed his way through the crowd towards Colombia who was standing next to the gangplank looking around. New Spain was deliberately ignoring Spain by coming here, but he didn't care. The days since New Spain had met with Spain had been eating him up with guilt. He admitted that he never should have let Colombia take all the blame, but he had no idea how to say anything about it. So, despite Spain's insistence that he stay away, he had come to the docks to see Enrique off. He felt that it was the least he could do.

Colombia turned to board the ship just as New Spain caught him by the wrist. He turned back and looked at New Spain. For a second shock passed over his face, followed by joy. He smiled as he said "I didn't think you would come, after Spain said…". Colombia's smile fell and he looked down at his feet. New Spain gently tipped Colombia's chin up so he could look into his eyes "Spain expressly forbid me from coming, but I couldn't just let you go. What did Spain say to you?". Colombia glanced away from New Spain "He said…well…it's not really something I would repeat in polite company. In less words he said that my attempt to seduce you was against the laws of both him and God".

New Spain kissed Colombia softly on the cheek "You know that isn't true. He should not have said what he did. Do you regret it?". Colombia's lip twitched in a half-smile "Mi amor, I could not regret a moment I spent with you for any punishment.". New Spain was suddenly overcome by guilt and he pulled Colombia into a hug "I'm sorry, this is my fault. If I hadn't-". Colombia put a thin fingers to New Spain's lips "Don't apologize, it isn't your fault. I don't want you to feel guilty about my leaving. I knew Spain would forgive you. He cares for you above the rest of us".

New Spain tried again "You don't understand, I can't forgive myself for this". Colombia leaned in and silenced him with a kiss. Then he pulled away slightly teary-eyed "I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I mean, it's only 10 years, that's like a blink of the eye for us. Spain has forbidden me to even write to you, or I would…every day.". Colombia wiped away tears and then gave up and collapsed with his face against the crook of New Spain's neck. New Spain held Colombia tight against him and let the boy sob. He could feel tears rolling down his own face against his will.

Colombia spoke into his shoulder "I love you. I love you more than I can bear. And I will come back to you eventually.". The captain of the ship walked out on the gangplank and yelled to them "Sir, we must leave now. Spain told me you are to leave as soon as possible". Colombia disentangled himself from New Spain with what remained of his dignity and walked aboard. New Spain walked to the captain and gesturned to him "Can I talk to you for a moment?". The captain shrugged and walked over to New Spain.

As soon as the captain was close enough, New Spain grabbed him by his coat collar, at the same time he drew the knife from the captian's belt. He put the knife to the man's throat "If you so much as mention this to Spain, I will have your useless head removed". He sheathed the knife again and released the man "And I do not bluff, I guarantee it". New Spain turned and walked away through the crowd.  
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He swung the wooden sword and caught a high blow, then moved just in time to catch a low one, only to have Portugal hit him in the ribs. He swore slightly under his breath, Portugal gave him an exasperated look "You are not here today, boy. I can tell your mind is somewhere else". New Spain didn't bother to deny it "Today is not a good day to practice, I have a lot on my mind". Portugal hit him lightly again with the tip of the wooden sword "Then this a better time than any. War does not happen when you are happy. You must feel the guilt of the lives that are lost for you. You must be able to fight no matter what you feel, boy".

New Spain nodded and raised his sword again, trying to swallow his feelings. But in the back of his mind he still saw Colombia's face when he left. This attempt was little better than the last, Portugal sighed "You are still not here, boy. You cannot bottle up your emotions, tell me what is bothering you". New Spain didn't think a second before he started spilling the story of all that had happened. By the end of it Portugal had somehow got his arm around New Spain's shoulders and was staring at him sympathetically "Meu Deus, I know my brother is a bastard but I didn't expect him to do something like this".

New Spain responded in a cold voice "I should have known this would happen, and I let it happen all the same. It's all my fault, I was so helpless". Portugal shook his head "No, it is Spain's fault for being greedy and possessive". Portugal walked slowly with New Spain "But you can't let your mind dwell on it. You will love again, trust me. The world is full of beautiful people." . New Spain glanced up and caught sight of Brazil walking by in the mirror on the wall.  
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America growled "I see why you hate Spain. How dare he do that to you?" Mexico shrugged "I still consider that one of his lesser offenses". America looked at him surprised "He just about raped you, and that's one of his lesser offenses?". Mexico smiled "But he didn't rape me, that's the point. The worst part is that he just about destroyed my love life. He forced me to realize that I am bisexual". America laughed slightly "That is a fact that I have been losing sleep over. I would also say you are more pansexual than bisexual".

Mexico took another long pull from the cigarette, which was becoming very short "You have been talking to Catalina too much. I am just a very sexual person. I enjoy what I enjoy" . America looked at him with some doubt "Cat also claims that you are prone to having affairs". Mexico sighed "Is this about you and me? Or is this about my past behavior? I do not like to be tied to one person, but you know I have been loyal to you. Catalina loves to bring it up because she still hasn't forgiven me".

America suddenly took what remained of the cigarette and kissed Mexico hard on the lips. Then he pulled away and said "I'm sorry". Mexico smirked "You have a very strange way of apologizing". America shrugged "If I try to say something, then I will just say something stupid and mess it all up". Mexico laughed "It's good that you realize you have no tact. I sometimes wonder if Eyebrows taught you any manners". America scoffed "It's not that he didn't try, it's not his fault I never listened. And what about you? Spain didn't seem to teach you anything".

Now it was Mexico's turn to scoff "I learned much less from him than I did from the court in general.". America put out the snub of the cigarette "I heard it was one of the most sinful courts of the time. So I would love to hear about what you learned from the Spanish court.". Mexico looked mournfully at the cigarette for a moment before saying "You're confusing us with the French, I know we seem the same to the English. There is a bottle of tequila, good tequila, in that cabnet over there, you should fetch it.". America grumbled slightly before standing up and walking over to the cabinet "I'm not going to ask why you keep tequila in your room. So, tell me about the Spanish court".


	8. Chapter 8

He spotted Peru first in the swirl of people and made his way over to him. Peru looked at him with mild interest "I heard that Colombia was sent to the Americas. It must have been hard for you, as you two were very…close" he said it with a slight tone of sarcasm. New Spain turned on him "You told didn't you? You told Spain about that night when Enrique kissed me". Peru looked genuinely shocked "No, what would I gain from that?" New Spain scanned his face for any sign of a lie, and found none "Then who did? Someone who was there that night told Spain, I know it".

Peru gave him a skeptical look "How do you know that? Why was I the first one you suspected?" New Spain glanced around the rest of the hall, which was full of people talking "Spain knew about me and Enrique, I know he couldn't have found out on his own. That is why he sent Enrique away. You would do anything to make me unhappy". Peru gave him another skeptical glance "Why would Spain punish Enrique and not you? I know he favors you, but not that well. Unless you did him some sort of favor. And let me make something clear, we are rivals not enemies." New Spain scoffed "Maybe you underestimate how much Spain favors me; he did give me a warning."

Peru shrugged before turning his attention elsewhere "Did you know, tonight is the first night Spain is allowing his female colonies to come to one of these court celebrations?" New Spain shrugged indifferently "What does it matter?" Peru turned to him incredulously "Are you crazy? There are girls here for once. We have been so deprived of female attention is it any wonder we are turning to each other?" New Spain shrugged, he honestly didn't feel amorous at all, "Go ahead and flirt, I will do nothing to stop you". Peru shot him a disgusted glance "You are such a downer tonight. Do you see that girl talking to Chile?"

New Spain looked where Peru was talking and caught sight of a beautiful young woman in a white and gold gown. Her thick black hair was braided around the crown of her head and fell straight down he back, a red flower adorned in front of her left ear. She appeared to be the same age as New Spain but she already filled out her dress as a woman should. New Spain felt his heart leap in spite of how despondent he felt "I see her, who is she?" Peru hadn't taken his eyes off of her "She is the island of Puerto Rico, and her name is Catalina. I also guarantee you that I will kiss those lips by the end of the night". New Spain felt much more like himself "Would you care to wager on it?" Peru finally took his eyes off Catalina "What?" New Spain smirked "I'll bet you 30 Pecos that I can taste those lips before you can". Peru scowled "You have no idea what to do with a women, you don't stand a chance". Mexico laughed "And you do, in all rights I have more kissing experience than you". Peru scoffed "You can have your wager then, just know that you are going to lose".

New Spain smirked at Peru one more time before weaving his way through the crowd. As he reached Puerto Rico, a low hum of music started. He skillfully stepped between Chile and Puerto Rico, Chile shot him an icy glare before silently walking off. He extended his hand to her and said smoothly "May I have this dance, my lady?" She looked him up and down and said "Of course you can, but only if you introduce yourself first". He smiled "How foolish of me, I am Nueva España but you can call me Alejandro. I know who you are, you are Catalina and if I may say the most beautiful woman here". She took his hand with a blushing smile. She regained some of her spunk as they walked out to the middle of the floor "Are you always so shameless?"

He smiled teasingly as the music really started "Only when it comes to beautiful women". They turned slowly with the music; Puerto Rico responded with a similar smirk "Do you have much experience with beautiful women?" He smiled as he took her waist and led in a waltz "Just enough experience, and never with a women as beautiful as you". She pulled herself closer in his hold "You flatter me. What do you intend with me?" Her breath was against his neck now and it was hard to ignore "I assure you, my lady, my intentions are strictly honorable". She smiled sweetly and pushed herself even closer against him "Who says mine are?"

She kissed him on the cheek lightly. He couldn't stop himself from glancing down at her chest, which was pressed against him. As the music stopped he took her hand and led her away from the bulk of the people. She followed him willingly. He caught a glimpse at the pure jealousy on Peru's face as he walked past with Puerto Rico. They stopped in front of a large window with the moonlight streaming through it. She smiled at him shyly "I hardly know you, but I want to". He smiled encouragingly in return "I do as well. Will you allow me to kiss you?" She nodded, still blushing from ear to ear. New Spain leaned forward and kissed her lips. His heart started racing very quickly and he burned all over. He pulled away after a short chaste kiss.

She looked at him for a moment completely star struck and then she took several shallow breaths "Is this how it's supposed to feel? I saw stars". He looked in her dark soulful eyes and tried not to want her the way his body did. He found his voice after a few shallow breaths of his own "I don't know, I haven't felt this way before. I did too". Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. Their lips met again and again. New Spain lost himself in it and somehow his arms got around her waist. He finally broke from her to take a deep breath in.

She took a couple flustered breaths and fussed with her hair nervously "I should go, my friends will be wondering where I am. And we can't let this go too far." He nodded, just as flustered as she was, "Will I see you again?" She nodded shyly "I want to see you again, but Spain watches me closely, so I do not know." He kissed her one more time on the lips and then turned and walked into the crowd. He looked back over his shoulder one more time to watch Puerto Rico talk with two other girls. Peru spoke right behind him "You complete ass! I suppose you want to collect on our wager".

New Spain turned to him "What wager?", then he remembered. Past the introduction, nothing had been for the wager. He said "I mean, yes I want to collect. But that's not why I did it". Peru gave him a scathing look "I doubt that anyone has melted your heart of gold or ever can. It may be worth so much, but it's solid as stone. I count myself lucky that I will never fall for you." With that, Peru turned and stormed off.  
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New Spain hadn't even changed out of the clothing he was wearing when he met Puerto Rico; he was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. He was replaying two different scenes in his head. They were both so similar, but at the same time so different. One was kissing Puerto Rico that night and the other was kissing Colombia in the cathedral. He was so confused, he knew he was supposed to see one as right and one is wrong. But he couldn't decide which he was, the right or the wrong. He knew that he couldn't be with another man unless he wanted to be raped senseless by Spain. But he wasn't able to get rid of the guilt of Colombia leaving. He also felt giddy about being with Puerto Rico. He felt like crying and jumping for joy at the same time.

He heard the door of the room open; he knew that it was Cuba. He didn't look over at him; New Spain asked "What do you think about love?" Cuba sounded confused when he replied "Why are you asking me? I don't really know…" New Spain continued to stare at the ceiling "I'm so confused right now. How am I supposed to know what I love? How do I even tell when I'm in love? Fuck, I don't know what I'm doing". Cuba sat down on New Spain's bed and said sullenly "What is making you so upset?"

New Spain sat up "I just don't know what's happening with my life. I've got no direction, it's all the same fucking thing day after day. And then I thought I found someone to make my life less fucking dull and now he's gone". Cuba looked over at him "You're upset about Colombia? You shouldn't be, he wasn't good enough for you." New Spain sat on the edge of the bed next to Cuba "Not good enough for me? And what makes me so special?" Cuba put his arm around New Spain's shoulders "I can't believe you would ask that. You're amazing, you're charismatic and handsome and bold."New Spain laughed halfheartedly "Don't lavish too much praise on me, Carlos. I might start thinking you are in love with me"  
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America cut in "He is in love with you". Mexico sighed "Carlos has been my best friend for a long time, and he has never once tried to come on to me". America scoffed "That's just because he is a chicken. If he had any balls at all he would have told you decades ago". Mexico sighed and opened the tequila "I, for one, am glad that he hasn't. Or else I wouldn't have any friends left who haven't tried to hit on me". America responded "Well, you still have Peru". Mexico straight up laughed "Me and Peru are not friends; we are rivals from time to time. He and his brothers are all like that".

Mexico poured two shot glasses of tequila. America took one and said "I still think you are being dramatic, there are more Latin countries than just the ones you've talked about so far. And you may be good looking and amazing in bed, but you are not the sexual frustration of everyone in this hemisphere". Mexico laughed and downed his shot of tequila "You're right, but Cuba is my best friend and no one has been there for me like he has. And you're right about something else; I am also the sexual frustration of a few people in the other hemisphere too".

America laughed and drank his shot "Wow that is some good tequila". Mexico poured another shot "That's because it's authentically Mexican; I know how to make tequila so much better than you do". America downed another shot "I am not going to be sober by the end of this story. Please continue talking while I slowly drown in this excellent tequila". Mexico sipped his tequila as he spoke "Well after that talk I did some soul searching and decided I did want to be with Puerto Rico".


	9. Chapter 9

They kissed again softly and Puerto Rico smiled as she pulled away. Then she spoke breathlessly "Do you think we should dance or something?" He brushed a piece of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear "Only if you want to. I'm happy to just stand here and kiss you all night". Puerto Rico leaned in and kissed his lips again "Alejandro, we've done this a couple times. And I need to say this now: I love you". He caressed her face "I love you too". They kissed again, much harder.

He heard Bolivia say "Could they be anymore shameless?" Peru responded "They have every right to be. If that woman gave herself to me, I would be shameless too". Mexico started to smile; he couldn't help but be glad that he had the most desirable girlfriend in court.

A boy weaved his way through the crowd and stopped "Ummm….Antonio wants to see you". New Spain sighed; he didn't understand what was wrong with what he was doing now "Alright, I am coming". The boy spoke nervously "Not just you, both of you". Puerto Rico looked at the boy "Me too?" The boy nodded nervously. Puerto Rico and New Spain looked at each other before following the boy to Spain's office.

Spain looked from one of them to the other and smiled broadly "You two have taken to each other quickly. It pleases me greatly to see two of my colonies happy in each other's arms." New Spain kept his face deliberately blank, but inside he was all rage. He could still see Colombia's face in his mind's eye and feel Spain's invasive touch. He wanted to say that Spain was lying, but he wouldn't dare. In his mind, he spit venom "You're lying bastard. You would much rather have me for your own."

Spain continued to speak "You are both very young still. But I believe you two truly love each other." New Spain was spared the pain of responding by Puerto Rico who said "Of course, although we have only known each other for a little while. I do believe we are in love". Spain smiled, but New Spain still mistrusted something in Spain's eyes "To strengthen the empire, I have decided that you two should be engaged to be married". It took a moment for the words to hit New Spain, it was all so sudden. For a few seconds he stared at Spain disbelievingly "What?"

Spain repeated himself "You two are going to be engaged to be married. New Spain knew that he should feel happy but he felt strangely numb. And for a second he thought of Peru's remark about his heart of gold. Then Puerto Rico's arms were around him and she was laughing. He felt happy all at once. It was easy to forget all his anger when he was in Puerto Rico's arms. He found himself smiling and kissing her again. For the time being, he didn't even care that Spain was watching. He could enjoy this romance in the open and no one would object.  
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For a couple weeks he neglected to go to his training with Portugal, he much preferred to spend time with Puerto Rico. He soon found that as well as being beautiful she had a light bubbly personality that was pleasant to be around. He found himself dreaming of her more and more. He dreamt of what she looked like under her clothing. He found himself consumed by lust like he never been with Colombia. He was also well aware that as a good Christian woman she would never yield to him before they were day he became bolder in his advances, but whenever they got close to what he wanted she pushed him away. He finally decided to return to his lessons to get his mind off of Puerto Rico

Brazil smirked at him "Phillip is not here right now, just your luck". New Spain sighed and turned to leave. Brazil spoke again scornfully "Is she pretty?" New Spain turned back around "What?" Brazil smirked at him again "Your little ball and chain? I asked if she is pretty, she must be to ensnare you". New Spain glared at her "I will not have you mocking her". Brazil lifted an eyebrow doubtfully "By all means, defend your chains." New Spain walked up to her angrily "Why do you call her that, wench?" Brazil laughed and matched every step New Spain had taken "You don't see do you? She binds you to the Spanish empire".

New Spain stopped dead in his tracks "What?" Brazil continued to walk forward "I'm sure she is a pretty little fool, so you don't see it. But she is a clever ploy. You would not do anything for fear of losing her." New Spain took another step forward; they were almost chest to chest "I will not listen to any of this." Brazil scoffed "Look at yourself; one would think you have forgotten your dear mother. Or maybe you don't care anymore now that you have a fool to dote on". Had Brazil been a man, New Spain would have struck her. New Spain growled "How dare you? If you say another word I swear I will hit you".

She grabbed the front of his shirt and spoke "There it is, you still have your fire and your rage. I thought your Aztec blood had been polluted by your love for that fool". New Spain looked in her eyes and saw a burning passion there. It ignited something in him that he had been repressing for years. It struck him how very beautiful Brazil was. She was dressed in boy's clothes, as was her custom. But even underneath the tunic and breeches he could see she had women's curves even more dramatic than Puerto Rico. She smirked up at him "Don't look at me that way, idiot. You have a pretty little fool, remember?"

He knew that he should pull himself away, but Brazil still had the front of his shirt. She smiled seductively "I bet your little girl is a good Catholic lady". New Spain responded in a whisper "Yes she is". Brazil released the front of his shirt and smiled seductively "Then she must not let you have this". She pulled down the front of her tunic to reveal the tops of her full breasts. New Spain's brain stopped functioning; it was so clouded by repressed lust. His hands moved without him thinking, they went under Brazil's shirt. Her lips were against his and they were hot and passionate.

She smiled slyly and walked away from him. He followed her eagerly into her bedroom. As soon as they were inside, he pulled her into a lusty embrace. He kissed her lips eagerly and pushed his tongue into her mouth. She arched against him and he gladly replied. Their bodies moved together in the passion.  
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Brazil smiled at him half covered in the bed sheet. New Spain attempted to look away from her bare breasts. He couldn't stop himself from glancing over at her over and over again. She looked so perfect lying on the white sheets like a renaissance painting. He had guessed at the curves that hid beneath the boy's garb. He now knew that he had sorely underestimated them. Without clothing on she was far more voluptuous than Puerto Rico and much bolder. She smirked "Why do you look so ashamed of yourself? You seemed to enjoy yourself".

New Spain blushed slightly "I should never have let myself do that. I am engaged". Brazil sighed "Yes I know, to a pretty little fool." Brazil ran her finger up her thigh and then further "But will your fool let you have what I let you have?" New Spain watched her with fascination, unable to draw his eyes away. He walked over and sat down on the bed. His hand joined hers on her thigh, he marveled at how soft the skin was. He moved further up her leg and under the sheet, until he found the place that made her moan. The sound was so seductive that he almost forgot himself again.

But he pulled back. Brazil sighed and said scornfully "Why are you so unwilling?" He repeated slowly and carefully "Because this is adultery. I am engaged". Brazil took his hand and placed it back on her leg "Is it not true that Aztec royalty would take several wives?" New Spain nodded, somewhat distracted by her leg under his hand "That is true, and several paramours as well". Brazil smirked playfully and put her arms around his neck. She pulled herself up so there was barely an inch between their faces

"Then make me your paramour. It is your right, my beautiful Aztec prince". Her voice was so husky and soft that it ignited his lust again. He kissed her lips hungrily and between kisses he said "I suppose it would be alright if no one ever knew". She made a noise of agreement in her throat "No one will know". New Spain responded "What would Phillip say if he knew?" Brazil responded in a lusty whisper "He doesn't need to know either".

She smiled and pulled away "You know, you are still a savage when you love. You don't act softened by Spanish influence". New Spain smiled back at her "Do you prefer me that way?" She ran her finger across the tattoo around his arm, drawing a little moan from him "I prefer to see who you really are, not who you pretend to be when you are in front of Spain". New Spain smiled back wickedly "Well, continue to be a scornful bitch and you might see me this…exposed more often"


	10. Chapter 10

America laughed "She was right about that, you are one hell of a lover". Mexico smirked "Of course I am, why else would I have so many issues with girls wanting to be with me". America took another drink of tequila "So, just to make sure, you were physically 16 and you had an affair with a boy, were engaged to a girl and fucking your teacher's colony". Mexico nodded "You know, when you say it like that, it makes me sound like a horny little slut. I have to point out that I am cutting out all the long boring parts to make it a better story". America brushed his cheek lightly "Or maybe you are a little bit of a whore".

Mexico playfully brushed off America's hand "If I were, it wouldn't have taken so long for me to sleep with you". America smiled back playfully "If I remember correctly, I tried to sleep with you several times and you pushed me away." Mexico looked despondently into his glass of tequila "I didn't want to fuck up any more lives. Because in case you are wondering, there were certain issues with Enrique coming back." America caught Mexico's meaning "Oh, he thought you would wait for him". Mexico nodded "Yeah, and I almost forgot about him. So, when he came back there were some issues. I was lucky that Spain warned me he was coming back"  
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New Spain had taken a distinct dislike to Spain's office since the time Spain sent Colombia away; it had become bitter sweet since Spain had told him of his engagement to Puerto Rico. This time he had no idea what to expect, it could be bad or it could be good. He rolled his eyes as he sat in his usual chair across the desk from Spain "What do you want?" Spain looked at him, obviously ignoring the insolence, "I want to tell you that Enrique will be back in a few days." New Spain had a sinking feeling; he remembered the day Colombia left. He glanced down at the ring that signified his engagement to Puerto Rico.

How was he going to tell Colombia about this? He really didn't want to hurt Colombia, but he couldn't pretend they could be together. Spain's voice intruded on his thoughts "You will remain here one week after Enrique returns, then you will leave for the Americas, its past time you get to know the land you represent". New Spain knew he should be happy, but he guessed there was another reason behind the offer. He couldn't help but notice that he would spend very little time with Enrique. New Spain responded "Why are you sending me away? Have I done something wrong?" Spain laughed lightly "No. My reasons are simple, you have been at court a long time, and I trust you have had enough of my education to spend a little time among your people".

New Spain felt a slight twinge of anger. You killed off my people, do you forget? He simply responded "So I will only see Enrique for a week?" Spain eyed him suspiciously "Does that bother you?" Spain stood up and walked around the desk so he was standing in front. New Spain involuntarily scooted further back in his chair, remembering the last time Spain had been this close to him. Spain made it no better when he reached out and stroked New Spain's face. He said in a predatory voice "I assume you will keep your conduct honorable. And if you do not, you know the consequences." New Spain shivered slightly; he caught Spain's meaning all too well.

He turned his head away from Spain's hand "I am engaged, I would not so much as glance at Enrique in a sinful manner. And what of Cat? Is she coming with me?" Spain shook his head "You two are young and in love, but it is healthy for you to have distance. Don't worry; you will not be away for too long". New Spain nodded "Is that all you want from me? Do I have your leave to go?" Spain nodded "Just remember, I will be carefully watching you and Enrique. If you so much as try to pick up where you left off, then your body is mine".

Once back in his room, New Spain let the whole situation crash in around him. He had hardly let himself dwell on the memory of his very short relationship with Colombia, it made him confused and depressed. Now that Colombia was coming back, he had no choice but to face it. He and Enrique had an unspoken promise that they would wait for each other, but New Spain hadn't waited. He had no idea how to tell Colombia in the best way. He didn't want to hurt Colombia any more than he had to.

He needed to talk to someone and Cuba would only tell him that he deserved better, which he didn't want to hear. He knew he was in the wrong in this. He needed to talk to the one person who always knew exactly what to say. He made up his mind that he needed to talk to Portugal as soon as possible.  
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He was so glad to find that Portugal was actually home this time. Portugal caught sight of him and wordlessly gestured to the garden. New Spain silently followed him. Once they were outside of the house, Portugal turned on him "Not only have you been ditching your lessons, you slept with Brazil. Don't deny either of those." New Spain searched for the right words "I know I shouldn't have". Portugal laughed, which caught New Spain completely off guard. Portugal continued to laugh "You should see your face, boy. I only object to you missing your lessons". New Spain couldn't believe his ears "So, you don't object to me and Brazil…you know..."

Portugal was still laughing rather hard "No, of course not, it was her decision after all". New Spain felt himself break into a smile "Good. I was worried you were going to get mad at me". Portugal finally caught his breath enough to stop laughing "What you expect is based off of my dear brother, and you must keep in mind that I am not Antonio. Do you know why I envy you?" New Spain didn't understand "Why do you envy me?" Portugal patted him on the shoulder "Because anything is possible for you. You have the two things that are really worth having in this world: youth and beauty".

New Spain nodded, slightly confused "I still shouldn't have done what I did. I'm sure Brazil has told you I'm engaged". Portugal sighed "Must I spell everything out for you, boy? You shouldn't squander the gifts you have naturally." New Spain caught the meaning "Why does everyone seem to object to her?" Portugal looked at him skeptically "Have I ever given you bad council? I know what you are trying to do; you're trying to be good". New Spain tried for the right words "I...uhhh…I trust you, but I think you may be wrong".

Portugal smiled "You still don't get it. Spain has told you must be good and sensible". New Spain nodded "It's sensible to get married". Portugal nodded "It is, very sensible and good. People die of common sense, one lost opportunity at a time". New Spain shrugged "What will come will come. In a little more than a week, I will be sailing to the Americas. This may be the last time we will see each other in a long time". Portugal nodded "This is the opportunity we have been waiting for, you can learn your people and begin to test the waters for revolution. While you are there, you should refer to yourself as Mexico instead of New Spain".

New Spain nodded "I will still miss your tutoring and seeing Brazil". Portugal laughed in response "No you won't, the world is in your hand now. And you will soon find new distractions. Besides, you have learned all you can from me, or else you will fight just like me". New Spain changed the subject "The reason I came is actually that I need advice in a rather delicate personal matter"  
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New Spain actually still felt quite confused. Portugal had basically told him to let Colombia down as gently as possible, which was the conclusion that he had come to on his own. He had no idea how to let Colombia down gently; he had broken his promise to wait. He was walking quickly through one of the halls in Spain's house. Suddenly an arm reached out and pulled him into a room. Just as suddenly, soft lips were against his. He put his hands on his assailant's shoulders and pushed them away.

Colombia took a deep breath "I'm sorry if I surprised you, I just couldn't wait". New Spain realized at once that turning him down was going to be even harder than he expected. In the years in between, Colombia had gotten older and even more handsome. Colombia leaned in again and tried to kiss New Spain's lips. New Spain was forced to push him away again "I can't do this Enrique". He wanted to though; he wanted it more than ever. Colombia looked hurt and confused "But why? I have waited years to feel your touch again".

New Spain, against his want, held up his hand to show Colombia the ring on his finger. Colombia's eyes went wide and disbelieving "You aren't, you can't be…" New Spain finished the sentence for him "…engaged. Yes, I am engaged". Colombia looked horrified "No…I can't accept this". Colombia grabbed the front of New Spain's shirt desperately "I will not lose you to some woman. I love you with all my heart". New Spain put his hands on top of Colombia's "We were children and we were foolish. I have grown up; I suggest you do the same". Colombia looked even more confused, but now he looked angry too "I have grown up, so much more than you know. But I want to show you and I am not letting some fucking woman get in the way".

New Spain noted that Colombia's voice had gotten slightly deeper, he had also picked up a determination that he didn't have before. New Spain's body wanted it so bad, but his mind was trying to talk him out of it. It was trying and failing horribly, all his reasons for not sleeping with Colombia seemed stupid except for one. Colombia's lips were on his again and he was kissing back. For a second he forgot Spain and closed his eyes. He felt his arms wrap around Colombia's warm body. His mind was screaming at him now, "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, You stupid idiot, stop this!"

He pulled away for a second and tried to find the will to stop. This utterly failed when he looked at Colombia's face, which was unbearably sexy. Colombia took a very deep breathe and opened his eyes "Fuck, that was good. When did you become this amazing at kissing?" Colombia stepped back a couple paces, still looking out of breath. New Spain snapped back to sense and simply said coldly "No". Colombia replied "What?" New Spain repeated himself "No, I won't do this". Colombia responded angrily "You would just throw me away? After all I sacrificed for you? After all I've done?"

New Spain responded coldly "I want to be normal, and I can't be that when I'm with you. I don't expect you to understand". Colombia scoffed "I understand perfectly, I see Spain's hand in this. He's watching you, isn't he?" New Spain gasped "What?" Colombia smirked "You think I'm a naïve idiot. I know that he controls everything you do, I bet he forced you into this engagement to tie you down". New Spain simply turned away "You're being paranoid and I'm not going to deal with your emotional shit. Clear your head, and then we can talk".

New Spain walked out of the room, determined not to look back and lose his nerve. The last thing he needed to hear when he got to the end of the hall was Spain clapping slowly "I didn't think you would be that cold". New Spain turned to stare at Spain "You were listening?" Spain nodded "Enrique is a boy with wants and needs, but the test was if you were going to give him want he wanted. For a moment, I thought you would give in". New Spain steamed, but held his tongue and walked away.


	11. Chapter 11

"Ouch, poor Enrique. I don't even really like the guy, and I feel sorry for him" America intoned. Mexico nodded "I was really bad with letting him down easy; I got better at that as time went on. I shouldn't have pulled that 'want to be normal' bullshit. What the fuck could I possibly know about normal?" America laughed "You have never been normal, but the one thing you have always been is good at breaking hearts. What happened next?"

Mexico responded "Well, he did what any logical person would do in that situation". America glanced at his half-empty glass of tequila thoughtfully "He found out who your fiancé was?" Mexico nodded "First he bullied Cuba into telling him who my fiancé was, then he confronted me again:  
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New Spain was walking around his bedroom packing the last of his stuff. It was hard to believe that such a big life could be compressed into those small chests. He stood in the center of the room and looked around; convinced there was a whole pile of stuff somewhere he was forgetting. Something that would express the life he had had here, something huge and bulky. And at the bottom of it all was some black crumpled up mess that was what he had done to his love life. He turned around and saw that Colombia was leaning against the doorway, staring at him with heartbreaking longing "She is pretty and she seems sweet. She could make you really happy. But I'm not sure that's what you really want".

He sounded defeated, but there was still desperate need there. New Spain walked over to Colombia "She's sweet and wonderful. And I am truly sorry about what I said before, but there is no other way". Colombia nodded "I'm sorry too, I acted like a child, a desperate child. If you want to be straight, then I will be ok with it. I will be here and desperate, but I will be ok." New Spain shook his head "No you won't. You have to move on, you deserve so much more than me." He sincerely hoped that Colombia could move on, he didn't want the temptation to always be hanging over him.

Colombia looked down at New Spain's shoes "Hah, I deserve better. That's what people say when they are trying to justify dumping someone they don't want to dump. The truth is that I don't deserve you, you are much too good for me". For a few second neither of them said anything. Colombia looked around the room for something else to say "Why are you packing?" New Spain looked around the room one more time, still convinced he was missing something, and then he said "I'm leaving the day after tomorrow; Spain is sending me back to the Americas". Colombia laughed scornfully "Spain isn't even trying to be subtle anymore. Deny it if you want, I know he is manipulating you and he isn't even clever enough to make it subtle".

New Spain knew he was right, but he just shrugged half-heartedly. Colombia continued "But that's the difference between him and you, given the chance you are way too damn clever. That's what scares me and what scares Tony. So I hope you are careful in the Americas, it isn't as innocent as you think. Don't let your heart of gold tarnish; I think your pretty little fiancé would miss it". New Spain was about to respond, but before he could Colombia had turned and walked away.

New Spain finished packing in silence, feeling rather hollow. It wasn't leaving that was depressing him; it was still Colombia and the mess he had made. At least Brazil had accepted that they wouldn't see each other again for a while with dignity and grace. But, she had always known that she was an affair on the side. He didn't know what to do with himself; it was dawning on him how selfish he had been. He hadn't even thought about anyone else, or what could possible happen. He walked over to his bed and checked under and around it. He was finally forced to accept that his life fit into such small trunks.

He noticed someone else standing in his doorway, to his great annoyance "What do you want, Spain?" Spain sauntered into the room and said "I forgot to tell you something, that I think you need to know". New Spain responded sarcastically and stood up "Oh and what is that?" Spain took a deep breath and then responded "You have a half-brother". New Spain wasn't sure if he should believe Spain, it was so sudden, he was so caught off guard that he said "No I don't, my mother only had one son".

Spain shook his head "No, she didn't. After your father died, she had a son with another country, I never figured out whom". New Spain was still in shock "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Spain smirked "Because you didn't need to know sooner. You need to know now because you will meet him when you go back to the Americas". There was no way that Spain could be making this up; he would gain nothing from it. New Spain was forced to admit to himself that his mother had another son. Somehow it didn't damage his memory of her at all. He also didn't really feel threatened, as he was still the older son.

He asked "What's his name? What is he like?" Spain responded "His name is Texas, he also goes by Diego. He looks like you, only a lot paler". New Spain nodded "So, he will be subordinate to me?" Spain nodded "He will be, you don't need to worry about that". New Spain was irritated by Spain's presence and he wanted him to leave as soon as possible "Is that it? I need to finish getting packed". Spain sighed "No you don't, but I'll leave anyway. That was all I wanted to tell you"  
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The next morning New Spain watched as his life packed in boxes was dragged away to be loaded onto the ship. He said goodbye to Cuba first, which got tearful on Cuba's side. Peru simply nodded with respect as New Spain walked by and caught his eye. Colombia was notably absent, although New Spain suspected that he was still in his room brooding. He made it to the docks before he found Puerto Rico, who was waiting by the ship.

She threw herself into his arms. He looked down into her beautiful eyes and for the first time that day felt sad to leave "I don't want to leave you, mi amor." Puerto Rico smiled, but her eyes were notably wet "I'll be faithfully waiting for you to come back, no matter how long it takes". He brushed a stray piece of hair off of her face and tucked it behind her ear. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. There was a moment of tender understanding and sadness between them. Then New Spain kissed her on the lips, while holding her as close as he possibly could.

When they broke apart she was breathing hard and blushing. She smiled sweetly and said "I should be going; your ship will be leaving soon". He nodded and they shared one more tender kiss before she turned and disappeared into the crowd. New Spain enjoyed the glowing feeling her embrace left behind for a few seconds before he heard a scoff behind him "That was the most sickeningly sweet display of affection I have ever seen. She is prettier than I expected her to be". New Spain didn't need to turn around to know that Brazil was standing behind him.

He turned around anyway to look at her "Why are you here? I thought we already said our goodbyes". He noted that Brazil was still dressed in male attire, but she was also wearing a belt around her waist, which emphasized her feminine curves. He also noted that she was wearing a sword at her hip, which was different than usual. She swept a curl from in front of her eyes and tucked it behind her ears "We have, but I'm not here on my own behalf". She put her hand on the hilt of the sword she was wearing, which was obviously very well made "It's a pretty thing isn't it?"

New Spain nodded in agreement "It is, I am a little confused as to why you are wearing it though". Brazil laughed "I am wearing it because that was the most effective way to transport it." She pulled both the sword and the scabbard from her belt and held it in both hands "It's yours". New Spain looked at the sword; it was finely crafted but not overly adorned. It was a weapon meant for use, not to be an accessory. He said "What do you mean? I don't own a sword". Brazil looked him straight in the eyes and said "Consider it a going away present from Phillip, he thinks you might need it."

New Spain laid his hand on top of the sword "This is too fine, I can't possibly take it". He spoke half of what he believed, in truth he was more afraid of the questions the sword would bring up. Brazil didn't put the sword away "You have no choice, this sword was made for you. It matches your build and the way you fight. No one else can use it effectively". He gave up his protests and carefully took the sword from Brazil "Tell Phillip that I thank him for his gift and I will miss him." Brazil nodded slightly, showing that she understood.

Then she said "Good Luck, Mexico. You may very well need it."It was the first time anyone had called him by his new name, and it sent chills down his spine. He turned to get on the ship and Brazil said "Ay! Do I get a goodbye kiss, lover?" New Spain turned back to her "Not here, not so openly, someone might see us". Brazil smirked "It's good to know that you're not as much of an idiot as I think you are. Adeus, México". With that, she left and he walked the gangplank to board the ship.


	12. Chapter 12

Mexico stopped telling the story for a second to glance at America, who was watching him avidly. America pouted "Why did you stop? It was getting exciting". Mexico smirked back "It's going to get much more exciting, that's the most innocent part of my life". Mexico noticed that at some point he has finished his tequila and put the glass down. He suspected that after that he had started using large elaborate gestures to accompany his story, which also explained why America was sitting further away.

It dawned on him how long it had taken to tell only a little bit of his life's story. He glanced at the clock, which read 11:30; he had started telling the story at 9:30. He glanced back at America "Alfred, it's getting kind of late, are you sure you want me to keep talking?" America pouted more, being very childish, "You can't leave me hanging like that. I need to know what happens". Mexico sighed "I'm beginning to see why you never read books. You would never get any sleep". America ignored the remark "I want to hear what happens next, and I'm not going to beg you. Heroes don't beg".

Mexico sighed deeply "Alright, have it your way, it can only get more exciting from here." America smirked in reply "Of course it gets more interesting, you met me". Mexico rolled his eyes "That was not the pivotal moment of my life, as much as you would like it to be". America continued to smirk "That's not really what you should tell the person you love. What happened when you got to the Americas?" Mexico took out another cigarette and lit it "I will spare you the boredom of hearing about sailing to the Americas. It was the same as usual; there were a couple days of bad weather a couple people vomited profusely. When I got to the Americas, the first person I met was not my brother, as I had expected"  
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Mexico stepped off of the ship in the country he represented and felt overwhelmingly like he was where he belonged. The air felt so familiar, like it was from a half forgotten dream. He smiled to himself. He glanced around for someone to meet him, he expected his brother. Instead his eyes lit upon a freakishly tall boy standing awkwardly and staring intently at the ground. Mexico recognized that must be a country because of how well he was dressed, relative to his skin color. In general, the rich were only white or Spain's same tan. Mexico looked around one more time and decided that he was only getting this boy as welcome.

He took a breath and walked over to the boy, who was still staring at the ground. Mexico wondered for a minute what was so very interesting on the ground. He was standing right next to the boy and he realized how very tall the boy was, he was at least a head taller than Mexico. Mexico cleared his throat rather loudly in an attempt to get the tall boy's attention. The boy jumped rather dramatically and looked down at Mexico. He gasped and took a few hurried steps back, having apparently realized how close Mexico was standing.

Then he resumed his intense staring at the ground, he mumbled "You must be New Spain. I'm Argentina". Mexico stepped forward and tried to look at the boy's face. This proved to be more difficult than he had expected because Argentina's long locks of black hair obscured his face and because he continued to stare fixedly at the ground. Mexico caught a brief glimpse of dark soulful eyes and full lips, but he couldn't be sure. He was suddenly reminded rather strongly of his first meeting with Cuba. He mentally made a note to be less intimidating, although he wasn't sure how he was being intimidating this time.

He responded "I would rather be called Alejandro or Mexico, I would like it if things weren't awkward between us", he put especial emphasis on the word awkward. Argentina understood Mexico's meaning and replied rather slowly, halting between words "I'm sorry, I don't do well with socialization. Your brother sent me because he was busy getting ready for your arrival". Mexico was somewhat touched by the fact that the brother he didn't know would try to make him welcome.

The silence between them became highly uncomfortable and Mexico broke it again "Should we be going, then?" Argentina nodded and abruptly started walking. Mexico was so caught off guard that he had to take a few quick steps to catch up with him. Mexico attempted to break the awkwardness again "Don't you want to know about me? Or the Spanish court?" Argentina shook his head stiffly "I talked a good bit with Enrique when he was here, he told me a lot about you and the court. I miss him now; I wish I could have gone with him". For the first time in the conversation, Mexico actually noted that Argentina's voice had a pleasing cadence to it, probably because Argentina had finally spoken more than 10 words.

He was slightly worried that the most anyone had heard about him was from Colombia. To measure the situation he said "What did Enrique say about me? He is a good man, but he does have a knack for telling rather fantastic stories". Argentina responded at once, apparently happy to have an easy topic to talk about "He said quite a lot about you, he said you are charming and intelligent and very good looking. Now that I see you, I know he was right about the last part. I reserve any other judgment until I get to know you better." Mexico nodded "That is wise of you. I know nothing of any of you here, and I would appreciate the same lack of knowledge about me".

Argentina nodded curtly "I can promise that for myself, but I can't promise for anyone else, we have heard some interesting tales. I must ask, was Enrique telling the truth about your relationship?" From the tone of Argentina's voice, Mexico guessed what the other was hinting at. In response he said "It is true. If I know Colombia, I also know that he made it more dramatic than it actually was. It was a brief experiment for me and nothing more. Now I am engaged to a wonderful woman." The conversation ended at that and Mexico gave up on trying to make conversation. He contented himself with observing the city around him.

The city was more like a very large town than a city, but this was probably because Mexico only had experience with Madrid and Barcelona, which were both much larger and grander. It was somewhat comforting for Mexico to see people with the same skin tone as him all around him. In Spain, he had seen only white people and it had made him feel alone. There was a feeling of home here that Mexico didn't quite understand. Despite how much smaller and quainter this city was than Madrid, Mexico preferred it here.

The streets were bustling with people, Argentina and Mexico wove their way through the crowd. Soon they reached a large house in the center of the city. Argentina stopped abruptly at the door and said to Mexico "Welcome home, this house is yours". Mexico looked at the house with new respect. It was a much smaller version of Spain's house, but it felt right somehow. His gaze returned to the door and he felt a new confidence, he had a place of his own and he belonged here. It irked him slightly that it looked so much like Spain's house, but he could deal with that. He started making plans to remodel and redecorate so that the house actually felt like his completely.

Argentina spoke again, although he continued to look at the ground "Your brother wanted to meet you as soon as you arrived, if you are alright with it. I mean you have traveled quite a lot today." Mexico picked up on the fact that if he didn't cut in, Argentina would continue rambling "I'm fine, Argentina. I would like to meet my brother". Argentina nodded at the ground and abruptly started walking again. Mexico was a little more prepared this time and didn't need to take a few steps to adjust.

Argentina walked quickly through the house. Mexico caught glimpses of several different rooms with interesting decor. He felt like he recognized some of the portraits. Mexico would have rather have wandered slowly through the rooms and looked at everything, but he also wanted to meet his brother. He decided to explore later and meet his brother first. He followed Argentina all the way through the house to the farthest back room. Argentina opened the door and led the way through. The room was very large and airy, with huge windows overlooking beautiful gardens. It took him a second to realize that it was an office.

The next thing he noticed was that everything was immaculately organized and cleaned. Argentina cleared his throat and said "Diego, your brother is here". For the first time, Mexico noticed the other boy in the room, who had been arranging things on the desks with his back to the door. He turned around quickly and looked directly at Argentina and said stiffly "Juan, you should leave us". Argentina disappeared as quickly as if he had evaporated into the air.

Mexico looked at his younger brother. He was that Spain was right; Texas looked very similar to Mexico. They both had very similar facial structures, but Texas was obviously less good looking. His face had less dramatic angles and was somewhat rounder. The result was that Texas had boyish good looks, but well within the normal limits. Mexico, on the other hand, had the face of a model and was dramatically good looking. They both had the same thick black hair and dark brown eyes, but only Mexico had small gold flecks in his. Texas was also notably paler, his skin was a mix of Mexico's skin tone and white. Texas also looked about two years younger.

Mexico wasn't sure whether he was supposed to make the first move. He tried to find the right words, but wasn't able to come up with something. He gave up and decided to let Texas make the first move. His brother took a few quick steps forward and dropped to one knee. Texas was staring fixedly at Mexico's shoes. Mexico looked down at his brother and was totally lost for words. He finally found his voice "Texas, why are you kneeling?" Texas continued to look at Mexico's shins as he spoke "Mother told me that I am to always kneel in front of you and I'm not to look you in the eye".

This was shocking news to Mexico. He had never known that he even had a brother. Texas, on the other hand, had been schooled on how to interact with Mexico. If anything, it made Mexico all the more uncomfortable. He decided to just trust his instincts. He kneeled down so that he was at the same level as Texas and reached out and touched his brother's face. Texas looked up at his brother "We aren't supposed to be like this. You are above me, mother always said so". The right words finally occurred to Mexico "That may have been when she was alive. Now we are the only two left of our bloodline and we only have each other now. I would rather you would you be willing to at least look at me". Texas looked at Mexico for a couple seconds as if he couldn't believe what Mexico was saying. Mexico thought for a second that he had said the wrong thing. He attempted to think of what to do next to remedy the situation. Then Texas hugged him "I'm sorry, I will try to be a good brother to you"  
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"Wait a second!" Alfred interjected suddenly. Mexico glared at him "Interrupting is not polite, Alfred". America ignored the comment "I have to make sure that we are actually talking about Texas. That's nothing like him". Mexico took a pull from the cigarette he had lit earlier before saying "Contrary to popular belief, he was actually sweet for a while before he turned into a complete cunt". Alfred winced slightly when Mexico swore "I still don't understand why you two hate each other so much". Mexico fixed Alfred with a glare again before he said "Aside from the part where he rebelled against me, or the part where he ran to you, or maybe the fact that he sabotaged our relationship just for the sake of making me miserable?"

Alfred sighed dramatically "I think this is my cue to change the subject before you try to murder me for helping your brother. Argentina sounds really different too, he isn't that shy now". Mexico laughed bitterly "Well played Alfred, but when we get to that part I might try to strangle you anyway. It's my fault that Juan changed so much. Let's just say that I was a bad influence". Alfred responded "How many times do I have to say I'm sorry? Aren't you always a bad influence? How did you even get Juan to speak more than 20 words to you?" Mexico continued "If you don't keep interrupting, I will get to that soon. I adjusted to life in the Americas very quickly…"


	13. Chapter 13

Mexico took up residence in the master bedroom, which was much bigger than the room he had shared with Cuba at Spain's house. He quickly got used to the room and the house. It stopped feeling strange to wake up on his own after a week. After the second week, he was used to the house plan and no longer got lost when he walked around.

The morning light flooded through the large windows into the room and woke Mexico. He turned over and pulled the sheet over his head. The sheet utterly failed to block out the light. He grabbed a pillow and put it over his eyes. After a few seconds of lying in an uncomfortable position before he gave up on the idea of sleep. He threw off the sheets and the blankets. He hadn't changed his habit of sleeping topless, so he was wearing nothing but his pants. He had already decided today was the day he was going to explore the city, partially because he wanted to see the city and partially because he needed a place to practice sword fighting. He didn't trust any of the other countries here to keep his secret about his sword, especially with what it implied about his loyalty.

Portugal also taught Mexico that in order to be good at fighting; he needed to be fit from head to toe. He hauled himself out of bed and stretched his arms. The floor was wood, but most of the floor was covered by a thick rug. He started his morning with sit-ups and push-ups in sets of 10 until his arms and abs started to ache. He had started this regime now because it would have drawn suspicion from Spain when he lived in Madrid. Now no one knew that it was that out of the ordinary. Since he had started regular workouts, he had gotten up to being able to do 150 in one morning. He stopped whenever his muscles started burning to keep himself from overworking his muscles. Within the last few weeks, since he had started doing this daily, he had noticed an increase in his muscle definition, although he remained relatively lithe.

He hadn't had a mirror in his room back in Spain, and now he had one mounted on his wall. He still hadn't completely broken himself of the habit of looking at himself every time he walked by it. He guessed that was why he had taken a new interest in his body and his muscle definition. He finished his usual exercise; he walked out on the balcony and looked out at the sunrise. The house hand two wings that wrapped around large gardens. Mexico's balcony over looked the gardens, as did several other balconies. Many of the bedrooms had balconies.

Although Texas and Mexico were technically the only residents, all the countries of the Spanish empire in the Americas resided there because it was the center of the Spanish empire. They all had a tendency to come and go, so Mexico had only met a few so far. He heard a light knock on the door, and he glanced at it and said calmly "Come in". Argentina pushed open the door. He was carrying a tray of food, presumably Mexico's breakfast. He placed the tray on a side table and walked stood awkwardly.

Mexico turned around and walked towards Argentina, who was still looking down. He had realized since their first meeting that looking down was pretty much a habit of Argentina's. Mexico ignored the food for the moment, even though he was hungry. He planted his index finger in the middle of Argentina's chest and flicked it upward, catching Argentina's nose. This forced Argentina to look up at Mexico. Mexico looked straight into Argentina's deep eyes "I don't really care how interesting my shoes are, Juan. You know I hate it when you do that." Mexico had found that this was the best way of dealing with Argentina's interest in the ground. Argentina looked away from Mexico, but not at the ground this time

"I'm sorry". Mexico sighed but continued in a forceful voice "Don't be sorry, just stop doing it. Grow a backbone, Juan". Argentina looked like he wanted to apologize again, but he held his tongue. Mexico sauntered over to the tray of food, picked up on apple and started eating it. He strolled out onto the balcony and turned his attention to the other person visible on another balcony; he called to them "Did you enjoy the show, Adrián?" Panama, Colombia's younger brother, responded "I did. I can see why my brother wanted to fuck you". Argentina flinched when Panama swore and he said "Adrián, watch your language. Remember who you are speaking to".

Mexico rolled his eyes; he really hated Argentina's insistence that he was superior. Panama responded with a smirk "You think his perfect ears haven't heard a little swearing before? He is no saint, my brother can attest to that". Mexico glared back at Panama "Don't believe everything your brother says". He turned back to Argentina "Juan, please stop pretending you're supposed to be my servant, it's getting on my nerves". Everyone had a tendency to go silent when Mexico spoke, anyone else and they spoke over each other almost constantly. Both Panama and Argentina stopped arguing at once, Mexico counted it as a success and returned to his breakfast.

About halfway through his breakfast, Texas backed his way through the door with an armful of papers. He almost tripped in his haste to deposit the stack of papers on the table. As soon as he dropped the papers he said "You have quite a lot of business to tend to, master…I mean brother. There are reports about trade, the state of the Spanish empire, improving roads and such. These are all the things you need to deal with". Mexico looked at the rather sizable stack of papers. He hardly knew how to do any of this. He said "Don't we have politicians to deal with this?" Texas cast him a questioning look "We do, but they are all rather inept Spaniards. I've been dealing with these for years. I let the politicians do most of the small stuff and half the financial matters".

Mexico smiled; he was suddenly reminded that he and Texas were related. Apparently, somehow they had come to the same conclusion about what they needed to do about revenge. He gave his brother an approving look, which his brother didn't fail to miss. Argentina also didn't miss the full meaning "Diego, why are you doing that? It could easily be seen as treasonous". Mexico lounged in the chair he was sitting in "Juan, don't sweat it. What Antonio does not know will not hurt him. As long as we continue to move all the gold we generate to Spain, he will not pry as to how much of it is directly controlled by Spanish appointed officials".

Argentina nervously shifted his weight "I still don't like it. You should hand matters over to the men Spain appointed." Mexico said firmly "If it bothers you, forget that you know about it. Our loyalty is firm and unwavering". Texas nodded and smirked "I assume you do not want me to change the arrangement, unless you want to take over my share". Mexico nodded "I like it how it is. Since you are so eager to serve me, you can continue to work on this for me". Texas bowed his head slightly then left, sweeping up the papers as he left.

Argentina watched him go then turned back to Mexico "Alejandro, you seem to have a talent for getting rid of work. What do you plan to do today?" Mexico smiled and picked up the last grape off the plate that had contained his breakfast "I plan to see the city, I have not yet gotten the chance. It is my heart after all, and I should know it". Argentina sat suddenly in the chair across from Mexico "Good Point, it is strange that I should know this city better than you do. Do you want an escort, my lord?" Mexico rolled his eyes again "Juan, you said it again. I am not your lord or your master. I also do not require an escort within my own city. Let me walk freely in my own streets".

Argentina look flustered and immediately looked down; as was his custom "I'm sorry. I spoke wrongly". Mexico had already spent the last two weeks attempting to deal with Argentina's looking down, and it was still frustrating to have him still do it. He stood up and walked over the Argentina and stood in front of him. He grabbed Argentina's chin and tilted it back up "Don't be sorry all the time either. How do you think you can possibly get anything if you can't be assertive?" Argentina looked away and Mexico sighed. He was beginning to wonder if making Juan more assertive was a lost cause. He turned and walked out, leaving Argentina sitting at the table.  
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Mexico strolled leisurely down the main street, it all seemed so familiar. He had walked through most of the city and he felt so at home, this was the place that he belonged. Few men actually noticed him; humans only noticed countries when they hold significance for the country. Every so often, a human was just particularly observant and took notice of countries. The few who did take notice of Mexico looked at him with great curiosity, understandably so, he was dressed far better than his skin tone would indicate.

He was also wearing the sword Brazil had given him at his hip. He took it simply as a precaution and he found that it was not unusual for men to carry swords here. He continued to walk down the main street, looking at the people walking past him. He found himself looking at the young men more than the beautiful women, and he found himself thinking of Colombia more than Puerto Rico. It was strange, but he almost wished that he hadn't pushed the boy away. The past few nights he had dreamt of how that night would have gone if he had returned Enrique's affections. But, that was impossible while he was under Spanish control. He tried to stop dwelling on it, it wasn't like he was actually in love with Enrique.

Suddenly an old woman reached out and grabbed his wrist. He hadn't noticed her because he had been so lost in his thoughts. Now he looked down at her, she looked incredibly old. He guessed she must be at least a hundred, if not more. She had a crazy desperation in her eyes. She pulled him over to the side of the street with surprising strength. Mexico tried to pull away from her, but she held on hard. She said in a breathy whisper "I know who you are, Mexica". Mexico stopped resisting at once; he hadn't had anyone call him his birth name in a long time. A human knowing it seemed utterly impossible; he responded "How do you know that name?"

Her eyes filled with relief when he said it "You were just a child when I last saw you, I was too. I was a year younger than you when the Spaniards came. Even after all these years, I remembered you". Mexico looked down at the old woman with a new appreciation. It couldn't possibly have been that long since he had been here last. The old woman looked at him mournfully "You look like one of them now. I hoped that you would preserve your mother's legacy. She would weep if she could see you now". She shook her head sadly, or perhaps it was disappointment.

The words hit him right in the heart, especially because he knew it was true. His mother would hate how he had become like Spain, he knew that. But he had let himself forget it. To hear it again was shocking and painful. He responded after the sting of the words faded "I had no choice. You can't possibly understand what I have been through". She shook her head again "Do you even remember her?" He nodded wordlessly and tried to not be offended by the question.

The woman continued "At least you have that much. Now, remember who you really are". She pressed something cold and hard into his hand, then without another word, she pulled a shawl over her head and walked away. Mexico looked down at his hand, which was wrapped around whatever she had just given him. He opened his hand slowly to reveal a golden medallion. He recognized it as a piece of Aztec gold. Something about seeing it again sent chills through him, that and the words the women had said.

The gold brought back so many memories suddenly. He had forgotten too much of himself and he didn't even notice it. Slowly, he had lost his will and his nerve. The memories continued the come rushing back. He saw himself being complacent, doing what Spain told him. When Spain had first taken him, he had defied every order; now he did everything Spain told him to do. Spain had been so clever; he had weeded out the defiance slowly. How had he never noticed it before? His hand tightened around the medallion. White hot anger filled his mind, more at himself than at Spain. He slipped the medallion into his pocket. He needed this, in case he ever forgot again.  
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Texas found him standing in the stables, brushing the mane of a beautiful chestnut stallion. Texas said carefully "Juan told me you have been back for a while, but you have been brooding in here the whole time. But he's-". Mexico finished the sentence "too scared to come in and talk to me. Isn't he always?" Mexico looked over at his brother, who was standing nervously by the door. Texas looked unsure and said "What's bothering you?" Mexico could see from the way that everyone else stepped lightly around him that they had become as used to authority as he had, be it Spain's or his. This, if anything, made him even angrier.

Mexico responded coldly "I'm not bothered, I'm angry". The statement made Texas look even more scared "Why are you mad?" He walked over to his younger brother and wordlessly slipped the medallion into his hand. He watched as Texas's posture and facial expression changed. He could tell it had the same effect on his brother that it had on him. Before he said anything, he handed the medallion back to Mexico, and then he said "I see what you mean, but that is dangerous. What you want to do will only get you in trouble". Mexico put the medallion back in his pocket "I can't just ignore it, so what do you think I should do?" Texas said in a measured voice "Keep it, but put it away somewhere. Pretend that you never had this little experience, but never forget it"  
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America reached over and touched a gold chain around Mexico's neck "You're wearing it now, so I'm guessing you didn't take Texas's advice." Mexico shook his head and put his hand on the pendant that America was referring to "I did, at the time. But something happened later that changed my mind, I'll get to that in due time".

America changed the subject "You know, what Texas said reminds me of Macbeth 'Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under't.'". Mexico laughed "You're quoting Shakespeare at me, and I thought this night couldn't get any stranger". America rolled his eyes "Of course I know Shakespeare, I was raised by England. Midsummer Night's Dream was my usual bedtime story". Mexico nodded "Right, well you are right about the similarity. Macbeth isn't that different from my life's story, other than the fact that I never killed Spain". America smirked "The way I heard it, it wasn't for lack of trying." Mexico took another pull from the cigarette he was holding "Are you going to let me keep telling, or do you want me to skip to what I did to Spain?" America sighed "Could you skip to the part where you met me, because I remember it being right around this time?" Mexico responded "It was, but I'm not skipping the little part in between"


	14. Chapter 14

Mexico took his brother's advice and put the medallion in a drawer in his room. Its effect wore off slowly, but eventually it did fade away. But, he did not forget what he had experienced. He would never look at Spain the same way again, the man was manipulative. He wouldn't let Spain change him again, he was sure of it. Every morning he reminded himself by opening the drawer and looking at the medallion again. Some mornings he even held it for a couple seconds.

The lure of the magic of Aztec gold was strong; he longed to wear the medallion. But, for the time he needed to act like nothing had changed. This would not be hard considering none of them, except for Texas, knew what had changed him. They also had no idea what he had acted like before, so they could not judge how much he changed. The only person who he would have to be very weary around was Spain, who was far away across the Atlantic Ocean. Or so he thought.

Argentina looked at Mexico with shock for a few seconds and repeated the words that Mexico had just said "Spain's coming here?" For the second time Mexico said "Yes, he will be here within a few days. He wants to check on progress or something". Mexico didn't regard it at all odd that Spain was coming to check on him. He had honestly been wondering how long it would be possible for Spain to stay out of his life. Argentina, on the other hand, was flabbergasted "Why would he come here? He never has before". Mexico shrugged "He likes to intervene in my life, so he is probably just checking on me again. He also mentioned that he wants to size up the English colonies at some sort of party".

Argentina nodded and looked down at Mexico's feet, as he did whenever he was feeling uncomfortable, as he said "Of course, you are his concern. I don't think he knows the rest of us exist most of the time." Mexico had almost given up on teaching Argentina to be assertive, but he still went to the trouble of saying "My eyes are up here, Juan".

They were sitting at the large dining table, having just finished dinner. Mexico had a long letter from Spain open in front of him. They were alone for the most part; Texas had flitted in earlier, but left quickly. He no doubt considered it improper to eat at the same time as Mexico. It was very possibly another behavior that Aztec had probably taught him. In the Empire, servants did not eat with their masters.

Panama had not been seen for most of the day. This, for the most part, was also not unusual. Adrian enjoyed frequenting brothels. Argentina preached at Panama about how wrong it was almost daily, and Panama ignored him on almost every occasion. Mexico had simply told him that he should be careful about what whores he slept with, because he might contract the pox. Some called it the "French disease", but Mexico had seen it long before the conquest of the new world, he had seen it in the Aztec empire. The virtue of having grown up as a native was that he had more immunity to the disease.

To his knowledge, there wasn't anyone else in the house at the moment. That was why Mexico was very surprised when a pretty girl with short swooping hair came into the room and sat at the table. She was wearing a dress, but it seemed to clash greatly with both her appearance and mannerisms. Mexico looked at her perplexedly before saying "Not to be rude, but who the hell are you?" She looked up at him, rolled her eyes and said "I'm Venezuela". Argentina said, looking away from Venezuela "I was hoping you wouldn't show up, bitch". Mexico wouldn't have been shocked by profanity from anyone else, but from Argentina this was shocking. He reproached other people for any type of swearing. Mexico looked at him for a moment in shock then looked back at Venezuela, who was now staring at Argentina with a challenging glare.

He addressed her "What are you doing here? I've never seen you before". She sneered "I heard Spain was coming here. If I were you, I would expect a lot more company. My name is Barbara, in case you wanted to know. I have been here before, just not while you were here. Don't expect me to kiss the ground you walk on or anything". Mexico would have been more shocked by this response if he wasn't used to a similar attitude from Brazil. As it was, the familiar abrasiveness was somewhat comforting.

Argentina looked down at the letter in front of Mexico and whispered under his breath "Bitch". She obviously heard him, but ignored the remark and said "So, have I missed dinner? It's a long trip from the continent." Mexico smiled at Venezuela "I'll see what I can do".  
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In the end, she was quite right. Within the next 24 hours, Guatemala, Honduras, Costa Rica and Nicaragua showed up. Honduras, a rather quiet young boy, was a good deal younger than the countries that Mexico was used to. Physically, he was about 11. Mexico later learned that he was directly responsible for the boy, as he was part of the jurisdiction of "New Spain". They were not actually related, but the geography bound them together. Within the first few days Honduras was there, he fell into a younger brother role. He followed Mexico around and one night he snuck into Mexico's bed and slept next to him.

There was nothing sexual about it and Mexico was somewhat comfortable letting the boy cuddle up against him. The boy was also joined by another younger country when Guatemala showed up. Guatemala physically was shockingly similar to how Mexico had looked at his age. Some of the other countries whispered that they looked so similar because the younger was an illegitimate son of the Mayan empire. The fact that Mexico already had one bastard brother did nothing to stop the whispering.

Mexico actually found it very haunting to see someone who looked so much like himself, but acted nothing like him. Mexico had been a charismatic, but clever and studious child. Guatemala, on the other hand, was very outgoing and friendly, but very flaky and forgetful. Mexico found himself just wanting to hug the boy at certain times, especially when the boy made careless mistakes. Mexico quickly learned that all of Guatemala's financial matters were best handled by Texas. He now had two of the boys who were his responsibility sleeping in the massive master bed with him. For some reason, he felt a fierce need to protect them both.

Texas seemed to become more withdrawn as Mexico got closer to the other, younger, members of New Spain. Texas didn't openly object to the new sleeping arrangements, but he didn't need to. Mexico could tell that his brother, to some degree felt jealous. After a couple days, Mexico got so sick of the constant gloomy atmosphere that Texas was exuding that he cornered his half-brother.

Texas was walking out of his room. He turned to close the door, when he turned back around; Mexico slammed his hand into the door next to Texas's head. Texas winced dramatically, but at the moment Mexico really didn't care. He said pointedly "Diego, I understand that you have taken issue with some of the things I have been doing. Would you like to tell me why?" He phrased it like a request, but his voice communicated that it was an order. Texas, for the first time since they had met, looked very frightened.

But, Texas also had determination in his eyes. He responded with strength "Would you have objected if I had snuck into your bed? Would you have let me sleep with you?" While he was responding, Texas leaned forward so much that there was barely an inch between their faces. Mexico refused to step back; it would show that he was backing down in the argument. Instead, he laughed "That is not the same. We are almost the same age. If we were to sleep together, the others would whisper about unspeakable things. They already like to believe that I am a whore. It would never have happened".

Texas, on the other hand, leaned back again. His courage seemed to deflate when he replied "I'm sorry. I just found myself wishing that, as children, we could have been like that. I regret the way we were". Texas seemed to even get smaller as he slumped against the door, obviously defeated. Mexico suddenly felt bad about the brusque way he had dealt with his brother. They never could replace the way both of them had grown up apart, but perhaps they could heal it in a way.

He said stiffly "Well, we could try it later. After Spain has left, that is". Texas nodded "I would like that." Mexico nodded curtly and turned around to walk away. Texas added tentatively "About the things they would, or will, whisper about us…I don't think of you that way. Not that you are unattractive, quite the opposite. But you're my brother". Mexico turned back around "I could say the same. As much as you look like me, I'm not that much of an egotist". He left his brother standing there.

With that dealt with, Mexico felt the need to catch up on his exercise. The presence of both Guatemala and Honduras in his bedroom had greatly disrupted his morning exercise schedule. The house was now so crowded that finding a place for any exercise was getting difficult. As a result, he had taken to swimming. It was a bit of a ride from the city to the coast, but Mexico didn't mind having a little space. Although he was very comfortable with being social, so much time pretending to be normal was wearing on him.

Once he got to the coast, he stripped down completely. Then he slipped into the clear blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico. The water was bracingly cold, but it felt good as soon as he started moving. Swimming was not his strongest sport, but he made due. He ducked under the water and started to swim with smooth, albeit not very fast, strokes. He planned to swim along the shoreline and then swim back in a big loop. Once he reached the point at which he deemed acceptable to turn around, he gracelessly turned.

He reached the starting point again he bobbed out of the water. Mexico expected to only see his horse tied up where he had left it. Thus, he was utterly shocked to see another horse and a tall blonde boy who looked to be about 16 and was dressed in the English colonial fashion. It was the presence of another person that suddenly made Mexico very aware of the fact that all his clothing was lying by his horse which was yards away.

He walked forward as far as he dared in the water, until it was covering everything under his waist. Then he took his last resort and called out to the blonde boy "Ay, you! ¿Hablas español?" He could just as easily have hailed the man in English, but that would be giving the man, whoever he was, a natural kind of advantage. Whereas forcing him to admit that he didn't speak Spanish put him at a disadvantage. The blonde jumped dramatically and said "I don't speak Spanish". Mexico took note of the fact that the boy also had a piece of hair that stuck out and cast a shadow across his forehead. He also spoke withsomething that resembled a British accent.

Mexico rolled his eyes and said in perfect English "I figured you didn't. You have caught me in an awkward situation I'm afraid. Do you see that pile of clothing?" The blonde nodded awkwardly, but said nothing. Mexico continued "Good, now could you bring them over here?" Again the boy nodded and wordlessly walked over to the pile of clothing and then walked over to just above where the waves were reaching on the sand. Mexico continued to command, and this was the most important part "Now turn around and don't you dare peek!"

The boy actually smiled at this "That is a pity; I would quite like to see the rest of your body". Mexico used the commanding voice he saved for the occasions he really needed it "Turn around!" With one more smirk, the blonde turned around. Once Mexico was sure that the other wasn't looking, he walked out of the water and quickly got dressed. Once he at least had a pair of pants on he said "You can turn around again". The other looked a tad bit disappointed "This view isn't much better than the one I had before". Mexico pulled on a shirt and walked over past the boy to his horse.

He untied the horse and at the same time said "You're an English colony, aren't you? Do you have a name?" The other looked unsure "Wouldn't a handshake, or something to that effect, be proper right now?" Mexico sighed "I suppose we should probably do something properly here". He then walked over to the blonde and extended the hand not on the horse's reigns "My name is Mexico. But considering the uhh…exposed nature of the encounter I think I am alright with you calling me Alejandro".

A slight look of surprise passed over the blonde's face before he took Mexico's extended hand and said "So, you're Spain's prized colony? I am the 13 colonies, but you can call me Alfred". Mexico smiled "How did you get here?" Alfred looked a bit unsure, but unlike Argentina, he kept his gaze steady on Mexico's face "I'm sure you know about the meeting between Arthur and Spain, all the colonies are supposed to be there. I was supposed to meet Arthur, but I got a bit lost and somehow ended up here". Mexico nodded thoughtfully "It seems fate wills us to meet like this. Perhaps we have a joint destiny"  
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America kept his composure for the whole story then he said with a raunchy smile "I should have just forced you to walk out naked. You know I had that dream for weeks after we met the first time?" Mexico rolled his eyes "If I knew you then like I know you now, I would have expected it from you. I for one am glad you didn't. It was a strange enough way to meet". Alfred responded "It reminds me of this one book I read on compatibility. It said that perfect couples often meet on strange circumstances, but they still feel attracted to one another".

Mexico smirked "You've read a book? That is strange. But there's one problem, we aren't a perfect couple, we never were". America looked legitimately offended by that statement "It's normal for couples to fight once in a while". Mexico sighed, his boyfriends ability to make light of things was really irritating "Alfred, most people don't fight like we do. And I don't think I need to explain what I mean". America nodded "Yeah, we have had some nasty fights. Haven't we?" America added after a moment "We have agreed that you aren't going to try to kill me when we get to that war, right?"

Mexico smiled devilishly "Yeah. But we have to get there first. Your turn to fill in a bit of the story". America looked confused and cocked his head slightly to the side, reminding Mexico of a confused puppy, and said "What are you talking about?" Mexico remembered that he had a cigarette in his hand, and before he took another pull from it, he said "I want to know what happened with you right after you met, and I'm kind of tired of talking. So, you get to tell the story for a bit". America sighed and said "Well seeing as you never actually gave me directions, as I had been hoping for, it took me some time to find my way back to Arthur. And then…"


	15. Chapter 15

Alfred dismounted and looked around to see if anyone had noted his lateness, he noted no one. Maybe England wouldn't scold him if no one knew he was late. He walked into the house which was currently housing the English colonies from the Americas. It was only then that he noticed that someone had seen him, his younger brother. He called to him "Mathew, how long have you been waiting?" Canada answered "A couple hours. Where the Hell were you?"

America didn't particularly want to tell his brother about the chance encounter with Mexico. There was something about it that felt like it was secret and special, and that was exciting. So, he responded simply "I got lost". Canada was rather unconvinced "You got lost for several hours? You would have to have the directional sense of a teaspoon to do that". America still refused to tell his brother, it was too important for some reason. So he added in a voice that he knew would keep his brother from asking any more questions "I was really lost".

Canada seemed to decide that he didn't want to pursue the topic any farther, so he changed the subject "I'm nervous about meeting the Spanish colonies; they seem so different than us". America immediately thought of Mexico and his brusque forward way of dealing, it had caught him off guard. He was more ashamed about the fact that he had flirted with him without knowing who he was. If England ever heard that America had flirted with Spain's most precious colony, he would be in so much trouble. Even worse, if Spain ever found out he would flay him, if the rumors about him were true. With luck, Mexico would keep it quiet too and nothing would come from it. Nothing that anyone would know about, at least.

He wouldn't deny that he found the boy attractive. Despite the fact that he was a puritan and he was supposed to be straight. It was a first for him, to feel this way about another man. He nearly forgot that he was talking to Canada until his brother tapped him lightly on the shoulder "Are you alright? Did you hear me?" America nodded absentmindedly "Right, different. Very different. Have you heard anything about any of them?" He added to himself Have you heard anything about Mexico? America had heard his good share of rumors about Spain's favorite colony. They all said he was the wild type. The word that usually came to mind was immoral. He was supposedly a Catholic, but if rumors were true, he had been with a couple other men already. In which case, he would be open to being with America. But, those were the most outlandish of the rumors. Another rumor bothered him more. The rumor was that Mexico had not become Spain's favorite colony for nothing. The most extreme version said that Mexico was Spain's boy toy.

After meeting Mexico, America found it hard to believe that he would be submissive to anyone. The moment that most clearly refuted that was the moment when Mexico had ordered America to turn around. America was more inclined to believe that none of the rumors were true until they were proven. To him, Mexico was exactly how he what he said he was. Canada responded while his brother mused "Mostly I've heard rumors. Spain's favorite colony is apparently quite social". America nodded "I heard that too. Do you know anything else about him?" Canada looked at his brother skeptically "Why do you care about him so much? Where were you today?"

A heavily accented voice intoned "Let me guess, you were off gallivanting with one of Spain's colonies?" Jamaica stepped out from behind a column and added "I certainly hope that you didn't touch Mexico, Spain is jealously protective of him". America quickly shook his head and quickly lied "I haven't even met Mexico. All I know about him is rumors." Jamaica looked like he obviously did not believe him "Right, say whatever you want. Just don't get the rest of us in trouble, alright?" Jamaica's point was a good one, but America chose to ignore it.

He knew he would see Mexico again at the meeting, and he intended to make use of that time. The group of three lapsed into silence, each seemingly musing by themselves. Canada broke the silence when he glanced at America and said "I guess we should go inside". America picked up on the fact that his brother was hinting that he should change out of his riding clothes. America noticed that the clothing he was wearing was filthy. He vaguely wondered if he had looked this rough when he had met Mexico. The idea that he had been was mortifying, Mexico must have thought of him as an uncultured hick.

Without another word, America swept off to find his room, tripping gracelessly on the doorframe along the way. After getting lost a few times, he found his way to his room, he finally found it. The belongings that he needed had already been brought before hand. He undressed slowly, still pondering Mexico. He closed his eyes and imagined that the first meeting had gone a bit differently. He imagined what they could have done on the sand.  
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Mexico, though he thought the encounter strange, thought nothing more of it. In fact, he didn't much like the English colony; the boy had been too brash and too forward. He also seemed a bit like an uncultured fool. Spain had said in the letter that the English colonies were much poorer than the Spanish colonies and were not likely to share the same sophistication. But still, Mexico had expected a bit more decorum. Flirting with a complete stranger was really rather classless. Mexico thought of the boy and got an unpleasant fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't quite identify the feeling, and he didn't like it. In a way, it made him feel curiously vulnerable.

The best thing to do would be to put the blonde out of his mind for now. With the right maneuvering, he would be able to avoid the boy at the meeting to. After that, he wouldn't need to think about him at all anymore. Mexico dismounted and handed his reigns to Honduras, who had just appeared. Mexico walked quickly up the stairs to the front door, and saw Argentina standing at there. Argentina had obviously been waiting for him for some time and was giving the cobblestones a very aggravated glare.

Mexico called to him "Ay! Juan, what's the news of the day?" Argentina jumped in a very dramatic fashion and then he said "Did you forget that today is the day Spain is arriving? We are supposed to be at the docks in a couple hours!" Mexico let these words roll off of him and he responded "I know Juan, we have time. Anyway, he will expect me to be at least a few minutes late". Argentina sighed in an exasperated fashion "I was hoping you would be back much sooner. Where were you anyway?" Mexico saw no reason to tell Argentina that he had met America, not that it really mattered, so he said "I went for a swim. I ended up staying out longer than I meant to. We still have time though".

Argentina still looked mad "Not all of us can live as spontaneously as you". Mexico laughed and turned to Argentina "Juan, if you tried being spontaneous for once, you might just enjoy yourself, and that would be such a travesty". Texas silently stepped in to make it a group of three, neither of the other two acknowledged his appearance.

Argentina changed the subject "I haven't seen Spain since I was very young, I wonder if he will even remember me". Mexico didn't understand Argentina's concern, it seemed ridiculous to him. Having Spain forget about him would leave Mexico with so much more freedom and choice. If Spain didn't care to notice, then Mexico would still be with Colombia and they would have gone so much farther. But he also understood that Argentina was very self-conscious and the idea of being forgotten would be wounding in the most devastating way. So he responded with a concealed smirk "I'm sure he hasn't, you aren't that forgettable".

Argentina scoffed "I am forgettable, and you are lying to spare my feelings. Don't worry, I already know that. It's not like I'm special or anything". Mexico was about to say something comforting, but Texas cut in "Screw Spain! The more important part is that we are going to meet the English colonies!" Argentina glanced involuntarily at Mexico when Texas said "Screw Spain!", as if he was expecting a reaction. Mexico was sure it was because everyone knew that Mexico supposedly hung on Spain's every word and command. If someone was going to demand respect for Spain, it was going to be Mexico. He addressed the other part of his brother's statement "What is so special about any of the English colonies?"

Texas sighed like a love struck teenager "Not any of them, one of them, the 13 colonies to be specific. I've met him before; he's a dreamy blonde with these amazing clear blue eyes." Mexico had to try to not show his shock, he couldn't believe his brother was infatuated with the boy he had just met. The thought caused the strange fluttering to return to Mexico's stomach, this time accompanied by an unusual anger quite unlike the vengeful anger that he felt whenever he saw Spain. It also wasn't the volatile anger that boiled beneath the surface whenever he got frustrated. He suddenly wanted to keep his brother as far away from America as possible for some strange reason. He also had to keep himself from laughing at the absurd description of America, nothing about the boy struck Mexico as "dreamy".

In the meantime, Argentina said "Being with another man is a sin by God's laws". Texas scoffed at this "Like I really would have a chance. It's just a little fantasy of mine". Mexico felt even more uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going, and he had no idea why. He really didn't give a damn if Texas hooked up with America, but the idea made him want to cause someone prolonged excruciating pain. He quickly changed the subject "Should we be going soon. You know, to meet Spain and all?" Texas looked a bit upset about the change of subject, but nodded quickly in agreement anyway.  
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The docks were strangely deserted when Spain's ship arrived, save Mexico, Argentina, and Venezuela, who were the biggest Spanish colonies who were currently staying in the Americas. Neither Argentina nor Venezuela had been too happy about having to stand within 20 feet of each other. Mexico hadn't even bothered to try and mediate between them; it seemed like a futile effort anyway. His mind was more concerned with how he was going to be flawlessly normal in front of Spain. This was going to be the hardest acting he had ever had to do; Spain would no doubt notice any deviation from normality. Spain discovering his change of heart could be incredibly disastrous. Mexico had spent the last half hour attempting to think through every possible way he had changed and thinking of ways to fix them. He had been so involved with himself that he had ignored the huffy sounds that the other two were making.

The anticipation was killing him and his mind kept drifting back to the English boy for some reason, which really wasn't helping his mood. The ship's arrival, for all of Mexico's worrying, was very anticlimactic. Spain walked down the gangplank and up to Mexico. For the first time, Mexico noticed that he had gotten taller; he was about the same height as Spain. Spain's appearance didn't appear to have changed at all since the last time he had seen him. He didn't look even a year older, which was surprising considering how many years they had been apart. There were a couple seconds of silence while Spain and Mexico sized each other up, then Spain said with a slight smirk "You look quite well".

Mexico couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, he had certainly been expecting more. Then Spain's smirk broke and became a full smile, without another word, he pulled Mexico into a hug. The newly awakened Aztec part of Mexico rebelled against the touch, as benign as it was. This was a moment meant to be between two people who cared about each other, and Mexico felt repulsed by the fact that he was pretending to care. He forced himself to return the hug, as much as he didn't want to. Spain spoke in Mexico's ear, and for a moment Mexico could hear pure happiness in his voice "I missed you, Alejandro. I shouldn't have sent you away for so long. I really missed you". Mexico could hardly remember ever hearing Spain sound this happy or strangely innocent. He sounded like a kid who had just gotten his favorite toy back. For a moment, Mexico could almost forget that Spain was a greedy, callous, cruel bastard.

The hug lasted a few minutes longer than Mexico was comfortable with, then Spain let go and turned to Venezuela and said "It's good to see you as well, Barbara. You have certainly matured since I last saw you". She responded with a charming smile "Thank you. It has been years since I've seen you". The polite banter continued when Spain responded "It has been far too long. I should bring you back to Madrid soon". Spain then turned back to Mexico and said "Alejandro, come on and show me around". Mexico took note of the fact that Spain had completely ignored Argentina, who was now staring blankly at the ground. If Mexico had been able to ignore Spain for just a moment, he would have gone over and said something to Argentina. Instead, he focused all his attention on Spain and went on with the act.  
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The hour before the meeting dawned and America could be found in his room doing something he had never done before: agonizing over clothing. He hadn't stopped thinking about Mexico since they had met, he had become a bit of an obsession. Now he was sure that he needed to impress Mexico, and looking his best would be a good start. The problem was that America had no idea what looked good; it had never seemed material before.

He was standing around with only a white shirt and black pants on, with all the jackets he owned spread out for him to contemplate. Nothing seemed right, they all looked horribly dull. He knew that Mexico was by far one of the richest colonies in the Americas and he would not be at all impressed by anything cheap. He was feeling rather hopeless when he heard a light knock on the door, which he had his back to. He turned around to see England standing at the door looking at him.

England said with a slight laugh "Doth my eyes deceive me, or are't thow blushing like a maid?" This sort of Shakespearian bullshit was typical of England and America responded "Could you dumb that down for me?" England rolled his eyes "All my efforts at teaching you seem to be wasted. You look like girl who doesn't know what to wear. But fear not, I'm here to help you". America looked around at the jackets again and said "I don't see how you can help me make a decision that will help me not look like a total idiot". England smiled sweetly "You aren't an idiot, Alfred. And I believe this is what you are looking for".

For the first time America noticed that England had been holding something behind his back, which turned out to be a box. England opened the box to reveal a blue jacket with intricate silver embroidery around the edges. He gasped at the sheer decadence of it "How the Hell can you afford this?" England laughed and responded "I'm beginning to get some windfall from India; I figured I might as well spend some of it to make you look a little less poor. The Spaniards are no doubt going to turn up in the most expensive things they can find just to show that they are so much richer than us.". America was overcome by the fact that England had actually spent a good deal of money on him. It was touching in a way.

England pulled the coat out of the box and said "Turn around". America was slightly puzzled by this command, but he obeyed it anyway. He turned to the mirror that was behind him. England walked up behind him and carefully put the jacket on America's shoulders. America hurriedly pulled the jacket the rest of the way on. England reached up and straightened the shoulders slightly; he said softly "See? The color looks nice with your eyes". His hands lingered for a second, as if England wanted something more. America could feel it too; there was something sensual in this moment. Then it broke when England turned and walked away, saying as he did so "Make sure to be on time, for once"  
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Mexico thought about what he should wear for a couple of moments, and then he decided he really didn't care. He instead checked on the medallion for the hundredth time. Since Spain's arrival, he had been constantly worried about the medallion, which was the most damning piece of evidence against him. Spain would take it away if he found it, which was more likely the longer he stayed. The medallion glittered in his hand, the gold was singing to him. He wanted it against his heart, but that would be the death of his relationship with Spain, as much of a lie as it was. He let the medallion fall out of his hand into the drawer, and then he covered it with a bunch of blank papers that were forms for a variety of transactions. Spain wouldn't look in here for any reason.

Then he turned back to the unimportant question of what to wear. He heard a hard wrap on the door and turned around; he caught sight of Spain standing in the doorway. This, in itself was not that odd, it had already happened before. Spain was smirking like a predator, which was far more familiar. He said in a seductive voice "It's been a long time since it's been just you and me, hasn't it?" Mexico's skin crawled, but he forced himself to remain neutral. Spain walked into the room and said with force "Take off your shirt". Mexico didn't want to obey, but he knew it was an order he had to follow. He stripped off his shirt, feeling uncomfortably exposed as he did so.

Spain walked over so that he was standing right in front of Mexico. He reached out and traced his fingers along Mexico's chest. The feeling was so invasive, Mexico found it harder and harder to not object. He smirked and said "I knew it, Alejandro, you have been exercising. I quite approve, it looks amazing". Spain's fingers continued across Mexico's muscled chest and further back. Slowly, Spain was taking more steps forward so that there was almost no distance between them.

He didn't have height advantage anymore, but Spain still was dominant. He leaned forward and whispered seductively in the other's ear "While you were away, I got Enrique to tell me about your little weakness". His hand came to rest on the tattoo on Mexico's back. Mexico tried hard to keep himself from making a noise. But the rush it sent through him was undeniable, his mouth opened in a soundless moan. Within the feeling of the sensation, he registered that Spain's lips were on top of his own. He closed his eyes and tried not to enjoy this.

Spain was holding him so close that he could feel their hearts beating together. The undeniable pleasure his sensitivity brought was overwhelming him. He was kissing back in spite of himself, and pushing himself against Spain. As he lost all sense of what he was doing, in his mind's eye, he saw blue eyes, blonde hair, and sun kissed skin. He refused to open his eyes and see Spain and the smug look he undoubtedly had on his face.

Then quite suddenly, they both heard a loud gasp and they both broke apart. Mexico opened his eyes to see Texas standing in the door. The look of alarm on Texas's face shook Mexico to the core of his being. The look of pure disgust was far too much; it was too close to how revolted he felt with himself. Spain, on the other hand, just looked satisfied and slightly triumphant.

Spain was the first one to speak "Holla Diego. Don't tell anyone what you just saw. Or you will regret it". Texas took a few hurried steps backwards and then turned and walked away. Spain turned back to Mexico as if nothing had happened "That was really amazing, we can continue it later. For now, you need to get dressed. I recommend the red and gold, it will bring out the gold in your eyes". Mexico collapsed back onto the bed and felt so violated.


	16. Chapter 16

America growled protectively again "That's just unfair, he just can't take advantage of your weakness like that". Mexico took another long pull from the cigarette in his hand, which was getting short again before saying "You shouldn't get mad every time I describe Spain doing that. That was not even close to the last time he did it. And before you ask, I never slept with him, despite what Texas has probably told you". America shrugged slightly "He did hint at something like that when he found out that we were dating". Mexico scoffed "I bet this isn't the first time you have heard the story about me and Spain making out, is it?" America shook his head slightly "You're right, Texas has already told me. He's told me a half a dozen times. I wanted to hear your side though".

Mexico suddenly switched to the offensive "Would it bother you if I had slept with Antonio?" America looked caught off guard "It would be…hard for me to accept. I might feel the need to confront him or something". Mexico scoffed and took another pull from the cigarette "Don't you dare go there. I know you and Eyebrows shacked up at one point, and I haven't complained. I never got what you saw in the guy, but that's not my problem". America blushed scarlet "That was different". Mexico scoffed again "Yeah, me sleeping with my colonizer is wrong, but for you it's ok".

America retorted quickly "That's not it! I was older than you were and independent". Mexico shrugged "Keep your double standards if they comfort you. But in my book there ain't a difference. Let's get on with the story". America laughed slightly "Did you just let me win an argument? That's a first. Do you want to continue, or do you want me to?" Mexico glared at America "No, I just have the sense to not try to argue with a wall. I've come to accept the fact that you have nothing in-between your ears. I figure it doesn't matter, I think we both saw the same thing. You go ahead"  
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The whole beginning of the meeting was a blur of color and names for America; he really wasn't interested in anyone but Mexico, who was the one person he hadn't seen yet. Arthur had spent the time introducing America to everyone and seemed quite irritated by the fact that his colony wasn't paying any attention whatsoever. After what felt like the billionth introduction, England disappeared to go talk to Spain and left America on his own. America, of course, immediately began to look for Mexico. The boy had been on his mind for hours, ever since they had met and he was going crazy to talk to him.

The giant room was filled with people, most of which America had already forgotten the names of. He wove his way between a few of them before he was face to face with a boy who didn't look that dissimilar from Mexico. It took Alfred a couple seconds to realize that he had met this boy before. The name took another seconds before he said "Oh, it's Texas, right?" The boy's face lit up "Yes, I'm glad you remember since the last time we met". America nodded, not really listening, and looked around attempting to locate Mexico. Texas continued talking "So, um, do you want to know anything about me? Or Spain? Or something?" America looked down at Texas, attempting to focus and not be rude.

He noticed again that Texas looked a lot like Mexico, in a less good looking sort of way. America decided to ask, "Would you by chance be related to Mexico?" Texas's face darkened as quickly as it had lit up "Oh…well yeah, he's my half-brother". This answer was not surprising to America, as he had already guessed at it. But it did give him an opportunity. He said, still not really paying attention to Texas "He's here tonight, right? I haven't seen him yet". Texas looked even more discouraged, but America couldn't stir himself enough to care. He was far more excited about being able to see Mexico again, fully clothed this time. Texas responded despondently "He is, I can introduce you if you like". America smiled sweetly, that was just the response he had been hoping for. Now he just needed to talk to Mexico and explain his feelings. Texas could see the excitement in America's face and his mood turned even blacker, he motioned to America without a word and started walking.

America kept up easily, although struggled to maintain the same grace in the crowd. As far as he could tell, navigating a crowd was an acquired skill that all the Spanish colonies seemed to have. They eventually emerged from the crowd in front of a balcony. A single person was silhouetted by the moon, and America knew at once who that black shape was. He instantly forgot that Texas was right next to him and walked out onto the balcony. Mexico was standing there looking out into the night with an expression that showed that he was deeply in thought.

America walked over to stand next to Mexico. For a second he considered if it was rude to interrupt the deep contemplation Mexico appeared to be in. Then he decided to talk anyway, and with some lacking originality he said "Shilling for your thoughts?" Mexico turned around with an aggravated look and said, "I don't think you could afford them." Then, with a very deliberate look of recognition said "Have we met before?" The pure overacted drama of the statement caught America off guard and he struggled for a moment to form words. The other rolled his eyes dramatically and pointed subtly at Spain.

America finally got it, if they acted like they had met before, Spain might have figured out that they had. Not that Mexico really had a reason to care, it wouldn't hurt if Spain knew that Mexico had been there, or at least not one that America could think of. But he figured he might as well play along. He extended his hand in a way that felt ridiculous and said "I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself. I'm Alfred". Mexico took the hand a shook it, all the time looking at America with a laugh glittering in his golden eyes.

America didn't know whether to feel glad that they were officially on stage one, or upset because he had the nagging feeling that Mexico was mocking him. America attempted to come up with something to say, with some stumbling he said "You know, I was thinking we might be able to talk". Mexico gave him a strange look that he wasn't quite sure how to interpret and intoned "Life must be hard with a sense of direction like yours". America did not see how that even came close to answering his question. It was obvious from his smirk that Mexico was amused by America's confusion, and before the blonde could ask a question Mexico said "Never being able to find your way to a good pick up line". He gave the other one more smirk and made to walk off.

America recovered from the stinging comment fast enough to grab Mexico's wrist. This action, he knew, was not proper considering they had just met, but it was born out of desperation. America was not determined to let Mexico get away so quickly. The skin against skin contact send tiny sparks up America's arm. He couldn't help but notice how soft the darker skin was. Mexico looked at the hand as if he could not quite believe it was there. He looked far too shocked to be affronted, which was to America's advantage. Because of the sudden necessity, America hadn't thought of what he was going to say to excuse his behavior. Instead, he looked at Mexico desperately, hoping that he would understand.

In that moment, Mexico looked up and their eyes met. Something passed between the blue and the gold, and Mexico hurriedly looked back down before jerking his hand out of America's grasp. America full well expected the other to continue walking away, but Mexico didn't. Instead, the other turned back so he was facing America. His expression changed again, to one of indignation "You have about 10 seconds to explain why you laid hands on me or I go tell some fantastical story to Spain and trust me when I tell you that you will not like Spain's reaction".

America tripped over his tongue again "I didn't mean to. I just- I need to talk to you, so you can't walk off. I mean, I wanted to apologize for what I said last time I met." Mexico's indignation seemed to dissipate "I see, you are just too uncultured. I suppose that is to be expected from someone who has never had to experience court life. I forgive you for now and earlier." America sighed with relief, despite the personal slight, at least he was making some progress. But, although they were the same age, he felt like a child in comparison to Mexico. The other was still regarding him with the oddest expression.  
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"You really didn't get it at the time, did you?" America glared at his lover, who had interrupted him mid-story. He added tersely "At that point in time, I was not jaded or experienced like you were. So, naturally I didn't understand the wheels that were turning in your mind". Mexico responded with a laugh "You still don't understand, Alfred, you just think you do. Let me continue the story". The blonde shrugged in response  
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Mexico was completely confused; this clueless English boy was going against everything he had ever learned to expect from other people. He was far too comfortable, and not the least bit intimidated. Although, admittedly, Mexico hated it when other people cringed away from him, the opposite was just as disorienting. Thus far, he had been unable to gain the high ground in this conversation or end it. Even though he was being very blunt, the blonde did not seem to be getting the hint that Mexico didn't particularly want to talk to him. The uncomfortable fluttering feeling from earlier had not dissipated, if anything it had gotten worse. Especially when their skin had touched. It had sent a spike of fire up his arm and he couldn't understand why. It was all too uncomfortable and he hated it.

Usually he would be clever and carefully extract the motivation through broad questions, but the situation had made him far too frustrated. He simply looked straight into those blue eyes, which he noticed were in fact quite blue and dazzling, and said "What do you want Alfred? I feel like I should know but somehow you have managed to confuse me". America looked quite caught off guard and he responded "I told you, I just want to talk". This answer, did not do anything to help Mexico's frustration, he clarified "No, I mean what do you ultimately want? Romance?"

America's expression changed at once, it was like candle lighting up. Suddenly he understood, although he seemed reluctant to respond, "I don't know. I mean, I don't want anything from you". Mexico scoffed rather loudly, verbally showing that he didn't believe the other "Bullshit, Alfred. Everyone wants something and I would wager you know exactly what you want. You just don't want to tell me because you are embarrassed or something similar to that". He watched the blonde carefully to see if he was right. America's face, however, didn't change. This, if anything, was more infuriating. Mexico was used to always being right and not being so was not something he was prepared for.

America smiled back as if he hadn't heard, but his response showed that he did "I guess I might, but I will keep my intentions to myself. If you're as clever as they say you are, then you will come 'round eventually". Mexico restrained the urge to hit that sun kissed face and not stop until he got a straight answer out of it. Doing so seemed like it would be a bad diplomatic idea, and Spain would get mad at him. But at least it would have been more fulfilling than this conversation, which he desperately wanted to end. America made him feel strange, to put it lightly and he didn't like it. He directed another loathing glance at America before turning to leave again. And yet again, America's hand closed around Mexico's wrist and pulled him back.

This time with more force, so much that it caused Mexico to stumble slightly and fall forward into America's arms. If the first touch had been disorienting, it was nothing compared to this. Mexico's could hear his heart racing in his ears, louder than he had ever heard it before. His skin was suddenly hot and sensitive, especially his cheeks which were flaming. This could not possibly be normal, it was strange and weak. But for some reason, it didn't seem bad; in fact, it felt almost right, like this is where he was supposed to be. Part of him knew that America felt the same was. The blonde's arms closed protectively around him and Mexico suddenly didn't feel like resisting. For a moment they both froze there, perfectly content with the position.

It was shattered by Spain's hand, which had suddenly appeared on Mexico's shoulder. The next couple seconds were a blur, Mexico suddenly found himself standing behind Spain, looking at America over his colonizer's shoulder. Spain was yelling at America "Don't you dare touch my colony as though you are equals. You are nothing, boy. You have nothing, no money, and no position. You are not even worthy of standing in the same room as me". The rant continued, but Mexico paid it no mind, he was too busy coming to term with the fact that he had just been hugging that stupid English colony, who should mean nothing to him. It was shameful and wrong. On top of that, it was a risk he shouldn't have taken, putting himself on the line for a boy he hardly knew.

Mexico turned his attention back to Spain, who was still yelling at America. He took note of the fact that Spain was more irate than Mexico every remembered seeing him before. Spain seemed to finish his tirade, leaving America looking thoroughly shell shocked. Then he rounded on Mexico. Without a word, Spain grabbed his colony by the arm and hauled him away. The grip was uncomfortably tight, to the point where Mexico wondered if it was going to leave bruises. He could feel every eye upon him as Spain dragged him through the crowd of people. He attempted to shield his face in order to keep his identity more of a secret, but the fact was that every part of him was pretty readably identifiable.

Spain only stopped in a hallway when he was sure they were alone, and then he finally spoke "Alejandro, you have 5 seconds to tell me you had nothing to do with what I just saw." Mexico whipped his arm out of Spain's grasp and said, "Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't. Either way, you overreacted". On retrospect, Mexico wasn't sure what about the whole situation made him so angry or what made him want to talk back to Spain, but the fact was that it did and he was poised and ready to fight. He could see at once that this was the wrong thing to say by the shadow that passed over Spain's face. He hardly saw the movement before the hand made contact with the side of his face. His instinctively cradled the part of his face that Spain had struck, as it stung.

Spain seized him by both shoulders and slammed him against the fall, knocking the breath out of Mexico. In the back of his mind, Mexico knew that he could put up a fight, but to strike back was pretty much a death warrant. Spain no longer actually had the size advantage and was much less fit, but he still had the weight of authority behind him. He growled to Mexico "Now, did you or did you not have anything to do with what I just saw?" Mexico swallowed any pride he had and said, with some truth to it, "It was an accident. I didn't have anything to do with it". With this answer, Spain let go of Mexico's shoulders and took a step backwards, saying as he did so "Good, because I always expect you to act with the utmost dignity".

How easy it was for Spain to lie to himself was sickeningly, the sight of it made Mexico's stomach turn. He thought the worst of it was over now that he had told Spain what he wanted to hear. But he was wrong. Spain took a small step forward and connected their lips suddenly. The contact was quick, but hard enough to make it very clear what Spain wanted. The older man pulled back for a second and said in a harsh voice "I can't take it, watching them all try at you like this. I'm going to take your virginity before any of them think they can take it by deceit or force". The hypocrisy of this statement was self evident, but still incensed Mexico.

The point was more important. The idea of letting Spain fuck him made Mexico feel sick, there was nothing that was more repulsive to him. No degree of feigned loyalty was going to allow his to submit himself like that, there was simply no way he was submitting. So, against his better judgment, he decided this was the moment he needed to fight back. Spain leaned in to claim his colony's lips again and Mexico took the opportunity to shove Spain away as hard as he could. He placed both of his hands on the middle of the man's chest and pushed.

Spain was forced to take several quick steps backward to adjust for the push; the look on his face was utter bewilderment. Mexico, however, saw no turning back now, his Aztec blood was singing in his veins. He took a step forward, away from the wall, and said "There is no way in Hell I am going to let you treat me like your plaything!" Spain's confusion visibly turned to shock "What did you just say to me?" Mexico took another step forward, his every instinct was telling him to strike out and hurt the man in front of him, he reiterated, "You heard me, you aren't deaf. I refuse to be used for your pleasure. Find a more willing body to use". Thankfully, Spain's emotions didn't have time to adjust back to anger, and stayed at shock.

Mexico felt incredible, his face no longer hurt and his entire being was rewarding this disobedience. Without a word, he turned and walked away from Spain, who was still standing stock still in the hallway. He made it as far as the next hallway before he heard a familiar soft voice behind him "You were incredible. I didn't think anyone would ever do that".

Mexico spun around to see his familiar tall awkward shadow standing a couple yards behind him. With genuine gusto, Mexico smirked at Argentina and said, "Most people wouldn't dare. It isn't the smartest decision, but it needed to be said". Argentina nodded, for the first time in Mexico's recollection, not at the ground. Instead, those deep dark chocolate eyes were fixed directly on Mexico's golden ones, and they were filled with the purest kind of adoration. Argentina said in a level voice "You can't go back to your room tonight, I trust you know that. Spain will look for you there. You can always stay in my room if you would like". Mexico didn't bother to ask why Argentina was making this offer; it was quite clear from the look in his eyes that he wanted nothing more than to be useful. He simply nodded "Alright Juan, but there is one thing that I want to get from my room first".

Mexico pulled open the drawer quickly enough to send all the papers flying, but they were of little concern to him. His Aztec blood told him he needed one thing out of this drawer. He plunged his hand into the white mass of paper and pulled out a small golden object. The medallion flashed in the light, as inviting as ever. Mexico pulled a thin golden chain up from around his neck. On it hung a small cross that Spain had given Mexico when he had decided to covert. He undid the clasp on the necklace and pulled the cross off of it, and then he slipped the Medallion onto the chain. Once the exchange was complete, Mexico put the chain around his neck again. The length of the necklace allowed the medallion to hang just above Mexico's heart. As with the first time he had worn it, the contact of the gold with his skin made Mexico's blood race. This was precisely where it should be, Aztec gold against a heart that pumped Aztec blood. Argentina was keeping watch and waiting patiently for Mexico to finish. Once he was done, Mexico walked over to Argentina and said, "I'm ready now. Show me where your room is".


	17. Chapter 17

Argentina's room was markedly smaller than Mexico's, although it was in much better order, save a small bundle of blankets in the corner. Mexico walked into the room ahead of his host and sat on the end of a rather small bed. Argentina walked over to the pile of blankets in the corner, which Mexico noticed was making a strange noise. Argentina brushed back a blanket to reveal the small, brown spotted face of a calf.

Mexico watched this with restrained intrigue. He couldn't stop himself from asking dubiously "Juan, why do you have a cow in your room?" The tall boy swept the calf into his arms and then walked over to the middle on the room and sat down before answering "I found him the last time I went back down to my home, he was abandoned by his mother. I guess I just knew how he felt too much to leave him". Mexico felt suddenly uncomfortable sitting on the bed while Argentina was on the floor. He stood up and walked over to where Argentina was sitting and sat down next to him. Again, those melting chocolate eyes fixed on Mexico, this time full of sadness.

Mexico understood that the other boy, like Cuba when he had been in a very similar situation, was terrified of doing something wrong. Argentina suddenly remembered something and stood up quickly, shoving the calf into Mexico's arms before he did so. He walked over to a cabinet, from which he retrieved a somewhat dusty unmarked bottle. Mexico absentmindedly stroked the calf's velvety head while he patiently waited for Argentina to retrieve the bottle and a pair of glasses. Argentina first placed the bottle and the glasses on the floor before sitting back down. He opened the bottle with his bare hands and poured some of the liquid, which was amber, into each cup.

Mexico looked at it doubtfully and asked, "What is that?" The calf started to struggle against the hold, which Mexico eventually relinquished. Argentina responded, now looking down again "It's a liquor that the locals in Tequila make, it's quite good actually. It helps me get through the day". Mexico was still doubtful, but if this originated from him then it couldn't harm him, so he took a drink. It tasted amazing, although it did burn the back of his throat as it went down. It took a couple seconds for his body to start reacting to the alcohol content. His head started to spin a bit, but he also felt so much bolder.

He said with a smile "So let me get this straight, you spend your nights in your room with a cow drinking. Why don't you spend time with everybody else?" Argentina had already downed two shots and wasn't looking down anymore; instead he actually seemed to be relaxing for the first time. The cow, which Mexico had dropped, had walked over and lay down next to Argentina. Argentina was leaning back on his elbows, holding the cup loosely. He snickered with a slightly drunken edge "Like who? You? You're too important for me. Your brother? He doesn't care; I'm the one person he can boss around. Venezuela? We played around when we were younger, before she decided she couldn't possibly be associated with me. I don't have the options you do".

Mexico wished he had the power to really listen to what Argentina was actually saying. But the other's voice, made stronger by alcohol and drunken confidence, had the rolling tenor of a tango singer. It was so mesmerizing and easy to listen to. While Argentina went on his rant, all Mexico could was listen to his voice. In the middle of the rant, Mexico reached over and brushed a thick lock of hair out of Argentina's face. The face behind it, Mexico realized, was beautiful in the most feminine way a man's could be. The angles, unlike Colombia's sharp one's, were rounded and soft. His lips, from which the mesmerizing voice was spilling, were so full and tempting.

Mexico suddenly felt himself wanting them. It dawned upon him that Argentina had stopped talking and was looking at him with confusion "Alejandro, are you listening?" Normally Mexico would think twice before doing what he did next, but the Aztec part of him was in control now and he really didn't give a damn what Spain thought. He leaned in and put his lips on Argentina's. Somehow, his mind was a bit clouded by the alcohol, he managed to haul himself over so that he was sitting in Argentina's lap. The tall awkward boy let Mexico kiss him without reciprocating at all. It was so one-sided that Mexico broke off the kiss quickly.

When he pulled away, he saw that Argentina actually just looked contemplative. The other ran his tongue over his full lips, as if testing the taste. Argentina took a steadying breathe and then looked up at Mexico, his eyes showed that he was carefully choosing his words "I won't deny that my heart has greatly desired this, but I don't want it like this. I don't intend to be ironic when I say that I don't want to be your plaything". No one had ever rejected Mexico before, whatever he wanted he usually had. This, he was not expecting. Timid, self-doubting, Argentina had just pushed him away.

He needed a reason before his self esteem totally plummeted "What do you mean?". Argentina again looked to be choosing his words very carefully "It's not that I don't like you, on the contrary, I do. But I know how it is with you. I've seen how you throw people away. I saw how you casually denied ever having been with Colombia, how you've forgotten your fiancé in favor of closer pursuits, and how you quickly deny Spain. I know what I am to you: Just another one-night stand. That's why I can't let myself wish I had you and I can't let you use me the way you want to".

Mexico's confidence deflated, he had been acting without thinking, but Argentina had obviously given this very occurance quite a bit of thought. The shorter of the two scooted back so he was no longer on the other's lap and poured himself another shot. He downed it in one before asking "What makes you think I want to use you?". Argentina laughed, a sound that resembles the chimining of very deep bells, "What else could you possibly want? You use everyone, it is your way. Not now maybe, but someday you will throw me away when I am no longer amusing to you ".

Mexico cocked his head shrewdly and said "What if I love you?". Again, Argentina laughed contemptfully "You don't. You don't believe in love, it would make you weak and complacent to be so dependent on someone else". A loaded silence followed these words, in which the cow moo-ed sweetly, attempting to get Argentina's attention. Mexico finally broke the silence in a calmer voice "So…so you want to just be friends then?". Argentina quickly nodded "That would be nice".

Mexico frantically looked around for a different topic of conversation and finally decided on saying "How do you know so much about me? Even Spain doesn't know as much as you do". Argentina looked up wistfully at the ceiling, at the same time scratching the cow behind the ear absentmindedly "People don't notice me, and when people don't notice me, I can observe things they don't want people to see. Being invisible does have its advantages, I know nearly everybody's secrets. For example, I knew that you didn't actually like Spain from the first time I saw you two together".

Mexico was rightly intrigued "And judging from your willingness to hide me, you don't actually like Spain either.". The other smiled sheepishly "You've got that right. I don't like that he can lord power over us and yet not actually care about many of us. He doesn't have the right to rule if he is going to disregard so many of his subjects". Mexico could see that he had that advantage now, he leaned forward a couple of inches and said "Then, perhaps you can tell me some of Spain's dirty little secrets". Argentina smirked "That I can do…." He started talking, his deep molten chocolate eyes alive with the secrets he was divulging.


	18. Chapter 18

America wanted to go running after Spain, but his feet were frozen to the ground by what he realized was fear. Spain had genuinely scared him. He had never seen someone go off like that, it was frightening. It was a reminder that Spain had been a conquistador once and that passion was far from gone, it only took a little spark of jealousy to reignite it in him. America had doubted that Spain was involved with Mexico before this, but all that rage and jealousy had proved it to him. No one reacted like that unless they were protecting a lover. Mexico had seemed to become a different person once he realized Spain was watching, he became submissive and complacent. Something about the whole situation just struck America as wrong. His naïve mind didn't jump to the obvious conclusion that Mexico was acting out of self-defense.

England tapped America on the shoulder, breaking him out of his reverie. America turned to look at his colonizer and said at once "I'm sorry". England responded angrily "It isn't you fault, Alfred. Antonio has no right to treat you like that. Just because we aren't as rich as they are, he thinks he can walk all over us.". America, now that he was recovering from the shock, shared England's indignation. Spain acted like he ruled the whole world because he had the biggest and richest colonies.

Although it was true that he was very affluent, Spain didn't have the right to act like he did. But what was bothering America more was the way he treated his own colony. Spain treated Mexico like no more than a possession. It was wrong in America's mind. He wouldn't even be surprised to learn that Spain was abusive to his colonies in order to keep control. If Mexico was Spain's most prized colony, then it was hard to imagine how Spain treated his other colonies.

America spoke to England "Did you and Spain get your business dealings figured out before he decided to become jealous-protective?" England nodded "Just barely. He isn't going to open trade with us, he wants to keep his monopoly over goods produced in his colonies. But at least we were able to establish some formal borders". America didn't really care, but he knew England liked to talk about business, so he gave him the chance to talk. While England was talking, America thought on his own wounded pride. The words Spain had flung at him had been partially true and he knew it. He had absolutely no money or precious metals, compared to Mexico he was nothing. He vowed to himself in that moment that one day he would become greater that Spain could ever be and would save Spain's colonies from his abuse. It may take centuries, but he promised himself that he would be able to surpass Spain. Then he would be able to impress Mexico and start some sort of relationship.

He had lied to Mexico on that topic; he did want a relationship more than anything. But to admit that had seemed like a singularly bad idea when he was talking to the cold Aztec boy. England finished his lengthy litany of the details he had managed to negotiate with Spain and said "Oh look, Spain has returned". America directed his attention to where England was looking and he was quite right. Spain was looking a bit wrung out, as though he had just done something very strenuous, America could only guess at what.

The Spaniard's eyes scoured the room and came to rest on America, where they froze like two shards of green glass. Judging by the look in those eyes, Spain's rage was not yet exhausted. If anything it seemed to be stronger now. He stormed over across the room, a dark aura of anger seeming to emanate from him as he went. He stopped right in front of America, looking ready to unleash his rage on someone who would take it. Instead he hissed with some control "What did you do to Alejandro?". America was rightly confused by this question, as far he was aware, he hadn't done anything. All they had been doing was hugging, accidentally hugging at that.

He responded "I don't know what you're talking about, Spain". Spain snapped back "Don't play dumb, even if you are an idiot. He has never pushed me away like that before". America couldn't help but smirk, he was glad to hear that Mexico had stood up to Spain. Although, America had no idea how any of this could be his fault. He responded "Look, Spain, it isn't my fault that Mexico chose to stand up to you. But maybe you deserved it". Spain blinked blankly at him for a moment and then asked, "What did you just call Alejandro?" America answered at once, although he wasn't sure why the question was important "What? Mexico?".

America was astounded by the way Spain reacted to that "Where did you get that name? How do you know the Spanish version of his birth name?". The blonde let this information hit him without really knowing the significance, it didn't matter to him if Mexico decided to use his birth name instead of the one Spain had given him. Although he could see that if he said that Mexico had introduced himself as that, he would be putting Mexico in more trouble than he was already in. So he shrewdly lied "It's what Texas calls him, I just picked up on it".

This seemed to slightly placate Spain, although there was still anger boiling behind those green eyes. Spain reverted back to his earlier complaint "You stay far away from Alejandro. You are a bad influence on him and I won't have you corrupt him.". America retorted "You can't dictate what I do, you don't rule me". At this, England took notice of the confrontation. He had been distracted by Canada, who was discreetly attempting to escape the whole ordeal. But America's shouting had brought England's attention to the fight between his colony and Spain.

The latter retorted "Do you think you would stand a chance against me, boy? You had better heed my warnings or else I will bring my wrath down upon you with military force.". America, being the hot-headed fool he was, said "Sure I could, you underestimate my capabilities. You can't control every aspect of Mexico's life like this!". America was ready to fight, regardless of the consequences. Part of him wondered why he felt so protective of Mexico, when he highly doubted that the other felt anything for him at all. Spain was so full of himself and America wanted nothing more than to tear down that confidence and utterly humiliate Spain. But, the small rational part of his mind knew that this yelling would get him nowhere, but he ignored it. This at least felt productive, unlike sitting on his anger.

Spain responded "Like Hell I can't! He is my colony and I can do with him as I please". America was about to respond again, but England elbowed him hard in the side. The blow knocked the air out of him momentarily. In the time that America couldn't speak, England managed to apologize quickly for his colony's "Intemperate" behavior. Before America could make another combative comment, England grabbed America by the arm and pulled him away.

Once they were far enough away, America began to calm down. Proximity to Spain seemed to make him irrationally angry. He gaze England an apologetic glance, which the older man seemed to comprehend. England said "You've done enough damage here, let's go home". America nodded in response and took note of the fact that Canada had successfully left without anyone noticing he was gone, but his other sibling was very much engrossed in conversation.

He sighed "I'll go get Annabelle and meet you outside". England nodded and walked out, leaving America to deal with his socialite sister. He walked over to where his sister was standing, talking to Texas. They seemed to be getting on quite well, at least as far as America could tell. He said with as much tact as he could muster "Diego, I'm sorry to interrupt, but my sister and I have to leave". Texas blushed at once when he saw America and simply said "I understand". Then he extended his hand somewhat awkwardly to America's sister and said "It was a pleasure to meet you, Belle. We should speak again sometime".

Annabelle smiled her candy sweet doll's smile, took his hand in her porcelain one, and said in a charming alto voice "Of course, it has been charming". She then turned and followed her brother out. As soon as she was sure that Texas was out of earshot, she spoke to her brother "You couldn't have had worse timing, Al. I was really making progress with him". The two of them looked very similar, with the same bright blue eyes and golden blonde hair, but the way they acted was poles different.

Annabelle was officially the states of Georgia, Virginia, South Carolina and North Carolina. But listing out her states was a mouthful, so most people just called her by her human name. Occasionally, when they were on good terms, America called her South. More often than not, they were disagreeing on something, and England was mediating their fights. He scoffed "Progress towards what exactly? You should know better than to fraternize with Spanish colonies". She responded as they walked out the door into the night.


	19. Chapter 19

Mexico laughed "I would have loved to have seen his face when you called me Mexico for the first time in front of him! I bet it was priceless!" America thought back on it and joined in on his boyfriend's laughter "It was pretty amazing now that I think about it. Although I shouldn't have blamed Texas". Mexico shrugged "Why not? He deserves every chance he gets to suffer. Although he may just be masochistic, he is in love with your sister after all". America suppressed a laugh with difficulty "My sister is not that much of a bitch". The other shot him a look that clearly showed he didn't believe him "Do I need to remind you what she did to you? Her and Diego, as a matter of fact".

America sighed and lay back on the bed "No, I think I will remember that my whole life". Mexico smirked "Good, it was a prime example of karma being a bitch". Then he looked over at the expanse of tan skin that was America's shirtless torso, it was very tempting. He swung one of his legs over America's waist and put his weight on America's hips. He leaned closer and whispered seductively "Do you know how much it turns me on that you fought with Spain over me?"

America blushed "Alejandro, you know I would do it again in a heartbeat if given the chance." Mexico leaned forward and kissed America. The blonde's lips were pliable and easy to separate, soon their tongues were entwined. Mexico buried both his hands in America's blonde locks. They were entwined in each other for a couple seconds before America broke away and said "I still want to know what happened next. You can't leave me hanging". Mexico sighed and sat up, but didn't get off of America.

He smirked "Are you referring to the part where we pretty much reenacted that scene from West Side Story?" America nodded awkwardly "I was wondering how you could possibly be there when you were with Juan, who I am glad never actually made a move on you." Mexico responded, his finger dancing absentmindedly over America's chest, "How do you know he didn't? I wouldn't object. A guy that tall…well you know what they say about tall guys". This got the exact reaction that Mexico had been expecting.

America blushed and looked at himself self-consciously "I know you didn't, at least not that night, I mean…you didn't, right?" Mexico decides to not answer that question, just to make America agonize. He would have to talk about it eventually, but he was not required to do it at the moment. Instead, he continued recounting the story.

Argentina, judging by his large body mass, should be able to hold a lot of alcohol. But, he somehow was able to drink enough to knock himself out. This left Mexico sitting by himself in a slightly tipsy state, casually petting the cow behind the ears. But the cow, like his master, seemed to be slowly falling asleep. Mexico's mind was on other matters, mostly the English colony that had ignited Spain's rage. He had become far more intriguing since he had become the subject of Spain's ire. Mexico denied to himself that he had any romantic inclinations towards the boy, he was simply interested. No one else dared to be so open and defy Spain.

He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew where to find America. The question was not how, but if. If it was a good idea to do what he was thinking of doing. Thanks to his lowered inhibition, he decided that he was going to do it and the consequences be damned. He stood up, making sure to carefully deposit the half sleeping cow next to Argentina. He walked out into the hall, making sure that his footsteps made almost no noise. The last thing that he wanted was for Spain to catch him in the hall.

Most likely, Mexico's rejection had caused Spain to revert back to his conquistador self. Rape was almost guaranteed if Mexico ran into Spain tonight. Getting out of the house was the smartest thing he could do. He made it out without incident and started formulating more of his plan.

America was not at all happy with how the night had turned out. In his mind, this had played out much better, including him and Mexico getting to know each other much better. In his fantasy, he ended the night with him making out hotly with Mexico. None of that had happened and it was depressing. America pulled off his jacket and folded it angrily. He was terribly upset, but he understood how expensive this jacket was and how he needed to keep it nice.

He kicked a piece of furniture as he walked by it. This hurt like hell and left him limping around the room. Now he was even more unhappy and in pain. He decided to sit down on the bed until he was able to calm down. Slowly, sleep started to take him. He lied down on the bed and closed his eyes. It was soft enough for him to start to forget what he was so mad about. He even started to drift into a dream. It was because of this that he didn't quite believe it when he heard a sound of a small rock hitting glass.

It took a few more hard clinks for him to realize that they were real and not part of his dream. He opened his eyes and looked around for the source of the noise. His eyes lighted upon the window that was right next to the balcony just as another pebble hit it. Slightly annoyed and intrigued, he walked out onto the balcony. Nothing could have prepared America for what he saw. Mexico had been poised to throw another rock, but he dropped it when he saw the blonde. He frowned "What took you so long?"

America wondered to himself whether he was still dreaming. Mexico sighed and said with some exasperation "Close your mouth, idiot, before something flies into it." This statement was so like the real Mexico and unlike the fantasy version of him that America was forced to accept that Mexico had in fact appeared outside his balcony. The boy on the ground shifted his weight from one foot to the other and rolled his eyes "I'm climbing up there, whether you like it or not. Don't try to tell me not to, I'm really not in the mood to bicker". America was still too dumbstruck to speak, so he just nodded.

It only took Mexico a few seconds to scale the wall, using a series of acrobatic skills that America could barely comprehend. Before he could completely understand how exactly Mexico had done it, the darker boy was sitting on the balcony railing looking at America with an expression of deep amusement. The blonde finally formulated a question for his visitor "How did you find me?" Mexico laughed and leaned back slightly "You forget, this is my country and I know it, quite literally, like the back of my hand. It wasn't hard to guess where Spain had put you".

America wondered for a moment about how Mexico was balancing in the position he was and how he could possibly be comfortable. Then he asked a question he actually thought Mexico could answer "What are you doing here? I thought you would want to stay as far away from me as possible. Spain was livid". Mexico smirked in reply "I wanted to make sure you were alright, I figured that Antonio would be incredibly mad at you. I wanted to make sure he hadn't cut your throat".

America could hardly find comfort in this answer, although Mexico had, in a way, admitted that he cared about America. He had wanted to hear that Mexico wanted to see him because he felt the attraction between them. But, Mexico had come to see him, and that was definitely something. But, his need for answers was not yet satisfied and this was a perfect opportunity "You are so blunt around me and yet, around Spain, you are so complacent. Why is that?" Mexico looked fully convinced after this question that America was a complete idiot.

He sighed deeply before saying "Simply, Alfred, because you do not hold my leash. Antonio can do whatever he wishes to me without fear of repercussions because he owns me. You cannot deny that England is similar in the way he acts towards you". America shook his head "He doesn't act like Spain. I am allowed to have my freedoms. I am allowed to steer my own government". A couple seconds of silence passed. This was strange, that Mexico could be silent for so long, although America didn't realize how rare it was. Then the Aztec boy responded "If that is true, I envy you more than you know. I would give anything to have a hand in my own fate".

Mexico's voice had lost its edge. In a way, it had softened to a point that it almost sounded vulnerable. The realization dawned upon him that this was the most honest thing Mexico had ever said to him. It was touching that Mexico was opening up to him. Without a thought, America reached over and touched Mexico's hand, which was holding on to the railing of the balcony. This time Mexico didn't say anything or pull away. The golden eyes closed as soon as America touched him and then they opened again slowly. He turned to America and asked in a carefully measured voice "Now I want to know, why do you risk Spain's wrath for me? You have no reason to."

America thought carefully about what he was about to say. He didn't know how much he could say without risking making Mexico angry. He had gotten a long way as far as getting the other to show some emotional vulnerability, but to push more was a huge risk that he wasn't sure was worth it. He decided to say "I don't know, but the first time we met, I felt something. It was like a longing in the pit of my stomach. I don't know if you felt it too, but I feel the need to make sure Spain wasn't going to hurt you".

Mexico blinked blankly for a moment. His expression changed back to unreadable. America could almost feel the wall go up between them. Mexico quickly whipped his hand out from under America's and said "That's sweet. It's nice to know that you are a hopeless romantic as well as being a complete idiot". The blonde's heart fell, he knew it was over.

He might as well think back on the little bit of vulnerability he got. But, not being one to give up on a lost cause, America said "Listen, Alejandro, I really like you and I don't know how you feel about me. But I am sure that you felt something when we met". The other fixed his cold golden eyes on America and said "You know what I feel? Irritated. Don't presume that I am attracted to you just because you've developed some sort of crush. And don't use my human name, I never gave you permission to and I never will"  
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Mexico interrupted this time "Yes, I know I lied about that. But, I wasn't very comfortable with you then". America responded "Could you get off of me? My legs are numb." The other scoffed before dismounting the other "Have it your way then, but you know you want it". He then grabbed Nantucket and softly ran it between his fingers. America had looked like he was about to sit up, but the sudden surge of pleasure kept him lying down. Without even pausing, Mexico continued speaking "No matter how cold I was to you, what you said next was pretty unforgivable"  
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Mexico was being cold on the outside, but on the inside he was freaking out. America had just described the exact feeling he had that was making him feel so uncomfortable. But there was no way in hell that he was going to tell America that. Opening himself up like that was just like asking to be hurt. America looked hurt, but that was exactly what Mexico had been trying to do. But America's pain seemed to quickly turn to anger "Oh, I see how it is. You save that kind of romance for Spain. Do you let him talk to you that way?"

The English boy could have hardly said anything more shocking to Mexico. He said, still surprised, "What did you just say to me?" America laughed and saw that he was quite suddenly on the offensive "Don't act like you don't know, the whole world is aware that he fucks you." Mexico blinked blankly before responding "Who told you that?" If America had more observational skills, he would be able to see that Mexico was attempting, with difficulty to restrain a bubbling rage that had just been ignited inside of him.

The coldness and the choice of words both clearly indicated that he was livid, but America did not know Mexico's mannerisms well enough to detect the difference. That being the case, he said the stupidest thing possible "It's common knowledge, didn't you know? I guess you two haven't been subtle enough." To America, this seemed to be a smart, witty response; he seemed to be winning this confrontation. If he couldn't have Mexico because the Aztec boy was hooking up with Spain, then he wanted to know. He had no idea how wrong this conversation was going.

Mexico swung his legs over the railing and landed squarely next to America. Only then did the blonde pick up on the aura that Mexico was exuding. He took a few steps backwards and ran into the railing on the side of the balcony. Mexico's eyes had turned to fire; the sparks were dancing in the gold of his eyes. Mexico stepped forward, making America extremely uncomfortable. He hissed, clenching his back teeth to keep his anger in check, "I am going to say this once and only once: I do not sleep with Spain. If you ever say that again, I will personally cut out your lying tongue and I will enjoy it too".

America swallowed what he had been about to say and instead responded, "I understand. I just…it's the gossip I've been hearing around." Mexico looked far from satiated "It's not true, it never has been. Spread that gossip." America realized how he had been playing with fire; it was too close for comfort. Worse, now he knew that he had a chance to sleep with Mexico and he had completely blown it. There was nothing he could say to make this better. Mexico continued to glower at him, but didn't say anything else. Instead, he quickly vaulted back over the railing and disappeared into the night. America rested his elbows on the railing and then cradled his head in it. America said to himself "Oh my god…I fucked that up"


	20. Chapter 20

Mexico was seething, he had really hope that something good would come from going to talk to America But it seemed that, like usual, this couldn't have worked out in a positive way. He pulled his horse to a stop in town. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he needed to kill a few more hours before morning. After a bit of sleep, Spain would probably be more reasonable. That was his best chance at keeping his status.

He tied his horse up and continued on foot. He walked down to the docks out of some sort of instinct, although he was not sure why. But by now Mexico was sure that there was some sort of fate guiding his life. He stopped on one of the peers and looked out at the ocean He could see a single lamp lit on the deck of a ship that was pulling away from the shore, no doubt a shipping galley that had taken longer than expected to load. It was interesting, how something could go wrong like that, and yet hardly affect the overall shipment.

Mexico was standing there, contemplating if there was any meaning in his observation when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He turned around to face a man who appeared to be about 20, who was dressed very plainly, but very cleanly. He appeared to be Spanish, but when he spoke it became clear that he was creole, of Spanish blood, but not born in Spain "I'm sorry to disturb you, but you look like someone in desperate need of someone to listen". Mexico couldn't help but be skeptical; people hardly sought him out unless they wanted something. Although, this was only the second time in his memory that a mortal had spoken specifically to him, the first time the reason the woman paid attention to him had become clear very soon, but in this case he didn't know. For a country, the mortals who noticed him were the ones that held importance for his future.

So he responded "You have no idea how true that is. Do you have a name?" The other responded "I should have started with that. My name is Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla. I am studying to be a priest." The second statement explained his dress, but not his importance. Mexico responded, " I'm Alejandro, and I would like to remain on a first name basis. Are you studying in the city"? The other nodded and said "Yes, at the Real y Pontificia Universidad. But, this is not about me. What brings you here in the middle of the night looking so melancholy?" Mexico had no idea why, but it was easy to trust this man. Perhaps it was his priestly disposition, but somehow Mexico felt that this man would truly understand him.

At once he started talking "Before I start, you have to understand that both of my parents died when I was very young and I raised by a guardian who is very oppressive." The other sat down; right there on the wooden edge of the port, he motioned for Mexico to do the same. The country hesitated a second before sitting down. It was surprisingly comfortable considering that it was the ground. The man spoke "I'm sorry, I had a feeling that this was going to be a long story and I don't want to be standing for all of it".

Mexico shrugged and continued "Tonight my guardian held a party of sorts…" He spoke for a long time, including every little emotion that he felt, although he was sure to not mention that he, or any of the people he was talking about were countries. During the whole litany, Miguel simply nodded empathetically at the appropriate times, and at others he sighed sadly and shook his head. He refrained from talking, presumably because he recognized the cathartic effect that telling the story was having. As he got all the emotions out, Mexico began to feel a profound sense of relief wash over him, as though he was no longer carrying a weight on his heart. He ended the story "and so, after that completely idiotic comment, I just left him standing there. Then I came here and ended up talking to you".

Only once he was sure that Mexico was done speaking, the man finally said, "Do you want my advice or do you want to be absolved of your sins?" Mexico laughed slightly in response "You aren't a priest yet and I don't want to be absolved, I haven't earned any forgiveness in the sight of God. Advice would be most welcome, though." He wondered for a second if the great insight he was about to receive was the reason this mortal noticed him. The man said in a sympathetic tone "It sounds to me like you need to get some space from your guardian. Is there any way you can get out of the house? As for the boy, the one who says all the stupid things, I think you have feelings for him. But, I think you should forget him for a while, he's too much of a risk." Mexico nodded, he had already figured as much.

He simply nodded. The other continued, "But, don't take this all too hard. There are a lot of things that are too hard for you to control. God works in mysterious ways, but it will all eventually work out". Mexico laughed this time "Don't preach at me, I am a Catholic, I have read the Bible. But help from on high isn't going to solve my problems, that's a long wait for something that will never come". Miguel responded, looking completely unfazed, "Waiting for something that will never come is surely better than living in the knowledge of what will never be. Wouldn't you rather have hope that something will happen? It may seem unlikely, but in time the circumstances will favor you and you will be able to get away".

He reached over and patted Mexico's knee in a way that seemed almost fatherly, which was incredibly strange considering that he was only a few years older than Mexico was physically. But he really did have a point; Mexico had begun to lose hope that he would ever have a chance of getting free. But he knew that he would eventually get the chance, even if it took a long time. In the mean time, he couldn't lose his temper with Spain like he had tonight, although, he shouldn't have to submit to Spain's every sexual want and desire.

Mexico said "I appreciate the advice, it's been a long time since I had some faith in fate. But I don't know how long I can possibly wait for my chance, but I will redouble my efforts to be patient." Miguel nodded again; it seemed to be his usual gesture. He picked up on the fact that Mexico wanted to leave and he said "Listen, Alejandro, you need to do what feels right for you. If you want to talk again, then you can always seek me out again. You know, it's strange, I don't really know why I came up to you tonight, but it felt like the proper thing to do. Like I said before, God works in mysterious ways."  
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America had finally managed to free Nantucket from Mexico's grasp. It took him a couple seconds to recover from the effect that having Nantucket massaged had on him. Then he said, "Did you ever imagine that the man you met might be the man to start the independence movement?" Mexico gave him another one of those looks that clearly said "You're an idiot" before he responded "Of course I didn't, at that moment I was more concerned with how I was going to repair my relationship with Spain, like any reasonable person would be." The days when America was actually deeply hurt by Mexico's stinging comments were long gone; he shrugged this one off as well. Instead he focused on getting back up to a sitting position. While he watched America attempt this, Mexico continued talking  
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He climbed back into the house through Argentina's window just as the sun was coming up. The scene inside was exactly as he had left it, Argentina was asleep with the empty bottle in front of him and the calf curled up against his side. Mexico was careful to step around both the tall Argentine boy and the calf, not wanting to wake either of them. He made it easily into the hall, but the danger was more imminent here. He was going to have to come face to face with Spain eventually, but he would rather it was not in the hall. It would be best for this confrontation to occur where the entire empire would not be watching. Mexico walked more carefully now, looking over his shoulder for Spain every few yards. But he didn't come into contact with Spain.

Instead, he ran into his brother, almost literally. They were a couple inches from each other when they finally noticed each other. Texas stopped dead in his tracks, which almost sent the plate of fruit and cheese he was holding flying, he looked like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Mexico attempted to make gestures that would indicate that Texas shouldn't speak, but Texas missed the idea. He said, quite loudly "Where have you been?! You've been gone all night. Spain is in such a state, I have never seen him like this and I doubt anyone has."

This was not welcome news to Mexico; he naturally assumed that Spain was angry. It fit, he had been angry when Mexico had left and it wouldn't be a stretch to assume that he was still angry. But that didn't change the fact that Mexico needed to make peace with him, and to do so he would have to do whatever Spain wanted. He changed the topic of conversation quickly "Where are you taking that food, Diego?" Texas didn't answer the question; instead he said, "You aren't going to deflect this one. Tell me where you've been".

Mexico didn't have time for this. He needed to keep what had happened between himself and Spain, at least for now. He took a step forward, so that he seemed to tower over Texas, and repeated, "Where are you taking that. Tell me now." He knew well enough that his brother was hard wired to obey his commands and would most likely crumble under the weight of a direct command. His intuition was completely right and Texas said, looking down at the plate of food "It's Spain's breakfast, I'm taking it to him."

Mexico tilted his head to the side slightly "Aren't you going the wrong way, then? His room is the other direction". Texas looked even more apologetic when he said, "No, he isn't in his room. He's in yours and has been all night." Mexico had not been expecting this turn of events. He tried not to think about what Spain had been doing in his room all night with the clothing and sheets that smelled like Mexico. An idea struck him. He took hold of the plate, which seemed to take Texas by surprise "Alejandro, what are you doing?"

Mexico responded without a moments hesitation "I am releasing you from your duty. I need to face Spain, and I would rather there be food present when I do." Texas didn't look completely convinced, but he released the plate all the same. Mexico turned and walked away. Inside he was mentally bracing himself to face Spain, especially if Spain was in his conquistador frame of mind. He reached the door far sooner than he would have liked. He paused for only a second to brace himself, and then he pushed open the door and walked in.

Spain was standing by the window looking out with his back to the door. He heard the door open, but didn't turn towards it. He spoke and his voice was hoarse, as though he had been sobbing, "Diego, I expect that's you. I can't eat at a time like this; I'm too worried about Alejandro. He's been gone all night and if something happens to him, it will be my fault." Only then did Mexico understand what Texas had meant by "in a state". He had meant sad and worried, not angry. This was beyond everything he had reckoned. Mexico had not considered that Spain might actually genuinely feel something for him other than lust. Spain's tone was so paternal, it was strange for Mexico to hear.

He walked over to the table and casually threw down the plate. It clattered against the table and a stray grape went skittering across the table. The noise must have been unusual because Spain said "Diego, is that you?" Now Mexico chose to speak "I didn't think you cared that much". Spain looked around, obviously recognizing the voice, and caught sight of Mexico. He did the one thing that Mexico never would have expected: He sighed in relief. The Aztec boy wasn't sure if he should say something.

He had meant to apologize and pacify Spain, but he hadn't counted on Spain being so worried. Spain walked forward as he said, "I'm so glad you're alright, I can't tell you how worried I was. I shouldn't have lost my temper last night. I am so sorry". Mexico couldn't quite understand the concept that Spain was the one apologizing. He had already scripted what he was going to say to Spain and he was determined to say at least part of it "And I am sorry as well for storming out like that." Spain shook his head as he walked over to the table "You don't have to be sorry, it may have been better that you did. Sit, I need to explain."

Not wanting to anger Spain when they seemed to be doing so well, Mexico sat without any objection. Spain sat on the other side of the table and immediately reached for the food. Before he started to eat, Spain said, "What I need you to understand is that as a country grows older, they develop multiple parts of their personality. When I was your age and I conquered the new world, I was someone different than who I am now. In those days I would have used your body the moment I had the chance. The problem is that when I am angry, and I mean really angry, I revert back to that state. Seeing you with that English boy like that made me so angry that I couldn't stop. If you had been here last night, I don't know what I would have been capable of doing to you".

At this point Spain stopped and sucked pensively on a slice of apple. Mexico already knew this was true, thus far Spain had not revealed anything new. As soon as he saw that Mexico was not going to say anything, Spain continued to talk "One day you will understand, although I do hope you will never develop a violent rash second part of your personality like I have."

On the inside Mexico was laughing, he already knew the feeling Spain was describing perfectly well. The Aztec part of him wanted to spring across the table, seize the knife that was sitting on the plate and sink it into Spain's jugular. He wanted to watch the crimson blood pour, he wanted to lick it from the blade and savor feeling Spain's last heartbeat through the skin. But he was able to push down the appealing fantasy. He already had a personality that Spain wasn't aware of that wanted the other dead.

But he simply responded "I hope that I do not as well." Spain continued, "I do lust after you, as you already knew. But I do value your consent. If you do not want me to touch you, then you need only say so". Mexico couldn't help but laugh, although he had been trying to remain stoic "That didn't seem to matter to you last night". Spain put his head in his hands for a second before looking back up with a pained look on his face and said, "You are too valuable to me. No…" Spain put down the uneaten slice of apple. He seemed to be shaking slightly, possibly because he was dealing with more emotions that he could usually manage. He continued to talk "We are too valuable to each other to be at odds with each other, so I would like to just forget everything that happened last night."

Mexico nodded slightly, he comprehended the situation. Spain had become painfully aware that he was losing control and he was also aware that he didn't have the same control over Mexico that he once did. So, he had changed tactics to be more fraternal. Mexico was wary of this strategy and he was not going to fall for it. He said in response to Spain "We can not forget everything. The truth is that I have grown up and you know it. I am bored with imperial life, that is why I am acting out". Spain laughed half-heartedly "At your age it was wanderlust for me. I was sick of being held down by the Caliphate, he was a pseudo-country who represented the Muslim world at the time. I won my freedom with Phillip's help, and then I needed more. I sailed out towards the horizon. I found the new world and I found you, that was the only thing that satisfied me."

Mexico smirked, now knowing that he was on the right path, "Brilliant history lesson, but I already knew that about you. Say something that means something to me." Spain leaned forward and said with his voice shaking "Don't you understand? I don't want to see you turn out like me. What I've done, the mistakes I've made, I can't let someone else do the same thing I've done. I worry about you because you're so like me, you could easily do the same things I did." Spain couldn't have known why these words would make Mexico mad, he didn't understand that Mexico knew who had killed his mother.

On the inside the dark boy was screaming I'm nothing like you and I never will be. He held this thought inside of him and said "Antonio, I am loyal to you. Despite my temper, I do not want my independence. I understand that I have hurt you, I've caused you worry and I am sorry. In the future I will show the respect and love that you deserve." He added to himself Yes, Antonio, eventually I will give you exactly what you deserve: The justice that you have always deserved.

Spain smiled in relief, completely unaware of Mexico's real meaning. He picked up the same piece of apple and actually took a bite out of it this time and chewed slowly. Then he said "I appreciate that, Alejandro. It's good to know that despite our inability to get along sometimes, you are still loyal to me. You are my most valuable asset". Mexico nodded again, well aware that he was lying, before he said "May I go now that we have talked that through?" Spain nodded and finally looked back at the food and said, more to himself than to Mexico "Yes, that was satisfactory". Mexico was struck by a sudden idea, one that would certainly erase any doubt that Spain still had.

He stood up and walked over to Spain's chair. The older man looked up, slightly confused. Mexico smirked before he kneeled down in front of Spain. He took Spain's left hand in his own and kissed the ring that bore the imperial emblum. As expected, Mexico heard Spain gasp. The man had not expected Mexico to act so submissive, but what was to come was going to shock him more.

Mexico leaned forward and pushed off his knee slightly. He kissed Spain lightly on both cheeks, which could either be interpreted as a sign of love between family or as a sign of commitment between two lovers. Mexico meant to leave it ambiguous, so he didn't say anything. Spain couldn't hide his smirk, he looked almost disappointed when Mexico stood up and walked away.


	21. Chapter 21

"I thought you said you didn't sleep with him" America intoned agitatedly. Mexico decided that if America was going to do this every time Spain's lust came up, he desperately needed a cigarette. He leaned back and grabbed another from his coat, which was hung over one of the bed posts. Mexico quickly lit it and took a long pull before saying "And it's true, I never had sex with Spain." America scoffed "Bullshit! If I were him, I would have stood up right there and then, grabbed you, bent you over the table, and then taken you right there".

Mexico rolled his eyes and took another pull, enjoying the feeling of THC racing through his veins. He said with some sarcasm "Well I'm glad that Spain isn't you. He, unlike you has an amazing ability to be shocked. He didn't do anything. I admit that I may have flirted to show that I trusted him, but I never slept with Spain." America still looked doubtful, but he refrained from commenting again. Mexico sensed that the other was far from satisfied, but he knew better than to press the issue. America may be stubborn and completely tactless sometimes, but at least he knew when it was appropriate to shut up.

Mexico decided that it was better to move on to the next part, which entailed asking "You used to control the Philippines, didn't you?" The other nodded quickly "Yeah, she's a little fireball. I had trouble keeping my hold over her." Mexico smiled, and it was almost a sweet smile, "That's what I liked about her. It's not like I discouraged it either. Did she talk about me?" The blonde shook his head slightly "Cat was the one who was always talking about you, sometimes she would just burst into tears when someone said your name. But, Philippines always just fell silent whenever Cat got started. I always thought they just didn't like each other." Mexico replied "Well, there is a good reason for that. They didn't like each other, probably still don't for all I know, because Cat saw Piri as a rival for my attentions." The other leaned back and said "I always wanted to know how you and Philippines got so close." Mexico continued, almost as if he hadn't heard America "A few months after me and Spain made nice, Spain finally decided to import his newest colony."  
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Mexico could hear the yelling from a couple feet away down the hall, and from this he gathered that the new colony had finally arrived. It was almost an understatement to say that Spain had been less than enthused about this colony. He had only decided to take her because of her geographical importance. As an Asian country, she was right next to China and could easily get in on the booming silver and spice trades. Her name was Philippines, and she was, according to rumor, very pretty but very unruly.

As was to be expected, days before her arrival, everyone had been stipulating on what they had heard and what she was actually going to be like. Even the young colonies like Guatemala and Honduras had joined in, which Mexico had done nothing to stop. He didn't mind, being able to deal with rumors was a part of being a Spanish colony and the boys needed to be able to deal with it. Sometimes Mexico would look at Guatemala, who was now growing rapidly, and wonder if Spain would ever think of the boy as a surrogate for Mexico and make a move on him. But he always denied the idea, if Spain was interested in just looks, then he would have taken advantage of Texas, who would look like Mexico in a dim enough light, and he had not yet done that.

The sounds of yelling that were echoing from the front hall confirmed that the new girl did have a fiery temper. Against his better judgment, Mexico went towards the cacophony. He reached the front room in a matter of seconds, and the sight that met his eyes was not dissimilar from what he had been expecting. Spain, who was wearing a white shirt and tall black leather boots, was standing squared up to a short girl who seemed to be animated to the very tips of her long black hair. They were both yelling at the tops of their lungs, and the subject seemed to be Spain's ability to remove the girl from her homeland. She kept saying that he had no right to take her away like this.

Mexico could sympathize; he had hardly been cooperative when Spain had first brought him to Madrid. Had he not been so upset about his mother's death, then he would have probably chosen this same futile fighting. He understood that it must be worse for Philippines because her homeland was across a much larger ocean, almost on the other side of the world.

Spain seemed a lot angrier that he should have logically been, so Mexico guessed that Philippines had been doing this for the whole journey. He was no reason to step in though, this spat had nothing to do with him and to intervene would be pointless, possibly even futile. Philippines spat an especially choice, expletive-ridden phrase at Spain and Mexico could see the dangerous light flicker behind Spain's glass green eyes. The Spaniard moved quickly and struck the girl across the face and the sound of it reverberated around the hall.

Her small form seemed to crumple as she reeled from the blow. Such force would have silenced most people, but she turned back to Spain and said "You have to hit me to keep me quiet, that isn't power. You know I'm right, you sadistic pig." Spain seemed well past words, he raised his hand again. Mexico didn't make a decision; he simply took a couple running steps and flung himself between them. He caught Spain's wrist as the other man moved to deliver another blow, only then did he notice Mexico's presence. The Aztec boy simply said, "That is enough."

Spain seemed shocked by something; he was staring at Mexico's hand, which was around his wrist in disbelief. It occurred to Mexico that Spain probably hadn't been aware of how strong his colony actually was. It had not even been hard for him to stop Spain's blow, which had been full strength. It took a couple seconds before Spain finally looked Mexico in the face and said "Did you hear what she called me?" Mexico decided it would be best to be strong and firm, although not seem to be taking authority over Spain. He chose his words very carefully "I know, I heard. But, Tony, be wary of your temper. Remember what you told me about it. She's a child, she didn't mean it." With this, he threw a glance over his shoulder at the girl, which clearly told her that she better not say, anything to refute that statement.

Although Mexico didn't see it, she nodded slightly. The tension went out of the muscles in Spain's arm and the older man said "I'm sorry, Alejandro, I lost my temper, I didn't mean to, especially not around you." Mexico released Spain's wrist, and in one smooth movement, turned and grabbed the girl's wrist. She squawked indignantly, but he ignored her. The most important thing to do at the moment was to get her away from Spain, because she would invariably say something else that would make Spain angry.

Mexico pulled her, with some resistance on her part into the hall. As soon as he was sure they were out of earshot, Mexico stopped and turned on the girl. He noticed that, despite the red hand print across her face, the girl was very pretty. The fact that she was an Asian country played heavily into her features, her eyes were black as ink, as was her hair, but the scornful gaze made them hard as obsidian. She appeared to physically be about 13 or 14, hardly more than a child, although her body showed all the signs of being at least partway through puberty.

Mexico took this all in, being careful not to show her a reaction. He said, still using the measures voice he had used on Spain "How could you be so stupid, girl?" She whipped her hand out of his grasp and spat back "I need not ask who you are, it's obvious from the way your master treats you. You must be Mexico, Spain's lap dog". Mexico couldn't help but understand why Spain had hit her, that comment was a low blow.

He restrained himself and said "You're not wrong, girl, but you are most certainly not right. I am Mexico, but he is not my master, he's the man I have the ill fortune to be bound to by contract." Philippines laughed in response "Do you lie to yourself like this often? You have the strength to break your so called contract. I saw it back there; you matched his strength easily. And yet, you are still here, groveling to him." As she spoke, Mexico noticed that her lower lip had been split by Spain's blow; right under her eye was also swelling.

He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. She had fallen silent waiting for him to respond. Instead, he took the handkerchief and carefully wiped the blood from her lip. She instinctively took a step backwards, but her face at lost its rage "W-What do you think you're doing?" Mexico matched her steps as he said "You're bleeding, and I would rather you not do it on my carpet." Philippines didn't take another step backwards; instead she stood still while Mexico cleaned the cut.

Her demeanor had shifted and she no longer seemed angry. Mexico understood, she felt scared and confused and alone, just like he had. She, like him, had been raised to believe that there was no problem she couldn't fight her way out of, which was most likely why she was being so aggressive. While he was working on her lip, he said "Let me tell you something, girl. Spain has a lot of colonies, and every single one of them lies better than you do." He finished caring for her wound, folded up the handkerchief and handed it to her "If you insist on continuing to act like that, then you will need that again."

She took it meekly, although he could see in her eyes that she was trying to figure out if she could trust him. It was the same game he had played when he had first met Cuba. Mexico turned to start walking away, this would be a test for her. As he had expected, Philippines said quickly "Wait! Mexico, don't go. I'm sorry about what I said. Please don't leave me." He turned around and looked straight at her. She was holding the slightly bloodstained handkerchief against her chest right above her heart, the fire in her eyes had also seemed to die.

Mexico nodded to show he understood and then he said "Alright, I won't leave you. My room is this way, you can collect yourself there until I find you a room". She nodded and gestured to indicate that he should lead the way. They walked for a couple silent minutes before she stopped suddenly. Mexico turned to look at her, she no longer looked quite so angry, but she didn't seem to be feeling any emotions. Her face was completely blank when she said "I just want to know. Why did you step in, Mexico? You didn't have to do anything".

He had expected this question, just not quite this soon. He could tell her the truth, but just as she wasn't sure she could trust him, he wasn't sure he completely trust her either. But, on the flipside, no one would trust a word she said about him. So he replied "I did it because you remind me of myself." Yet again, she scoffed "I don't believe that. You're Spain's favorite, even I know that. You're his golden boy." This time Mexico could counter her with a short laugh "That doesn't mean that he and I always get along." She fell silent again, which seemed to indicate that she was mulling over what Mexico had just said.

They reached Mexico's room and he opened the door casually. Still silent, Philippines walked in and without asking permission, sat on the bed and looked around. She looked relatively harmless in that position, but Mexico couldn't help but worry about her, she and Spain had not started off on the best footing and unless she yielded they were not going to get any better. With time and training, she could learn to hide her wild side, but directly under Spain's control, she wouldn't have the adequate time.

Mexico really wasn't sure why he cared so much, perhaps it was because this intemperate girl reminded him so much of himself. But regardless of the reason, he felt he needed to help her. He turned to walk out, intent on finding Spain and talking to him. Philippines immediately reacted "Where are you going? You can't just leave me here!" He responded, with a look back over his shoulder "I'm going to go talk to Spain. I hope I can save you some more pain. Feel free to make yourself at home, I will be back as soon as I possibly can." With that he walked out to find Spain.


	22. Chapter 22

He found his colonizer in another room, attempting and failing to do paperwork at a desk. He was still obviously frazzled. Mexico knocked, although more out of courtesy than necessity. Spain's head automatically snapped to look at the door, although he relaxed as he saw who was standing at the door. Mexico didn't wait for an invitation; he just walked in and sat in the chair opposite Spain. He let the other speak first, as was proper.

Spain said "That girl! If I didn't have to tap into the trade from China, I wouldn't bother with her!" Mexico reached across the desk and grabbed Spain's frantic hand; this was to make sure he had the other's complete attention. He said "I know, Tony. I want to take her off your hands". Spain blinked blankly for a second before he replied "You want to do what?" Mexico had figured the whole arrangement out while he was searching for Spain so he was ready to answer "I want to make her my ward. You control me, so you would still control her, but you wouldn't have to directly deal with her. I can manage her finances and send the profits to you, just like I have been with my own. It would also give me something to do, and thus curb my own need for change."

He paused to let Spain come to terms with this reasoning before he continued "Tony, you don't need this stress right now. You have more important things to deal with, like France and England trying to encroach on our empire." He put emphasis on the word "our" as if he were controlling this with Spain and not just another colony along for the ride. He was well aware that Spain was worried about the English, especially since they had sunk the armada. He slightly wondered if Alfred had been whispering in England's ear to try to turn him against Spain. But that was, of course, ridiculous.

Spain smiled "I don't know what I said to you, but I am so glad you finally care for me like I have always cared for you. I will make the arrangements, you may deal with her if that's what you want." Mexico nodded, although he already knew that Spain wasn't going to deny him. As the Spaniard had already pointed out, he couldn't afford to be fighting with Mexico. All the same, Mexico couldn't show how much he power he knew he had over the other. He said simply "Thank you, Antonio, I won't let you down".

He stood up and started to walk away, but he was stopped by Spain's voice "Have you heard about the 13 colonies? Apparently he has been acting out, throwing tea in Boston harbor and such. Nothing serious yet, but there is a nasty rumor going around that he might rebel." These words caught Mexico off guard, they seemed so sudden, but he recovered quickly. He knew it must be a test. Spain wanted to see if Mexico cared about Alfred enough to react to this news with worry. But, he was determined to show no such emotion "He couldn't possibly win if he chose to rebel, but I doubt he will. He's not an idiot."

Spain responded "No, I don't think he could win. But this turn of events does make one think. He's the colony England got along with the best, it wouldn't even be stretch to call him his favorite." Mexico suddenly got it; this wasn't about Alfred at all. He voiced his realization "Just like you and me. Do you think I would betray you, Tony? After all we have been through?" He turned around to look straight at Spain so he would be able to gauge that Spaniard's reaction more carefully.

Spain had obviously not been expecting the question to be turned back on him, but he rebounded "I don't know, Alejandro. I want to believe you would never want to. In my heart, I know that you never would betray me. But my mind says otherwise, you are New Spain, my colony, but you are also Mexica, your mother's son. So, can I trust you? Only you can tell me that." Mexico walked back towards Spain slowly, and when he was close he said "I've been your colony for almost 200 years, we have so much history together. We've had our fights, we both know it but I have never once thought about betraying you. Whatever part of me was Aztec is long since gone"

This part felt the most like a lie, because he had to mentally apologize to his mother's spirit. The proof that he was still Aztec was warm against his heart, even at this moment. He even slept with the medallion on because it reminded him of the vengeance he would eventually exact. He continued to lie through his teeth "If I were ever going to rebel, I'm sure you would see the signs and stop me before I even had a chance to try." The appeal to his ego was the final blow in the had won. Spain smiled again, and there was a sincere light to the smile "I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that. I know I shouldn't worry, but sometimes I just can't help myself. I am lucky you are more grateful than that English idiot." Mexico inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Spain couldn't see through the empty lies and flattery. Yet again, Mexico turned to leave and this time Spain didn't stop him.  
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He returned to his room relatively quickly. The discussion about rebellion had shaken Mexico; he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Spain either trusted him completely now, or he would be watching Mexico more closely. The point was that America, that complete and utter idiot, had come very close to blowing Mexico's cover. Mexico opened the door and without actually looking around the room, walked in and closed the door. He spoke "I spoke to Spain. You're going to be directly under my control and I will report back to Spain".

He was still facing the door when he felt the flat of a blade against the back of his neck. He registered that it must be his blade because Philippines hadn't had a blade when she came in here. Her voice spoke behind him and it was stronger than it had been when he'd left her "Lies. You said everyone lies better than I do. Then this sword must be your lie, the one you would do anything to hide. I had to look quite hard for it." Mexico responded, although he was not entirely sure if he was supposed to "Yes that is a part of my lie, but only a part of it."

She snapped "Then what is the rest? I demand you tell me!" He laughed, he liked this girl already, "Do you think I enjoy giving up all my pride for Spain Do you think I really trust him? Or love him? I lie, every time I am in front of him. Every simpering sentimental word I say to him is a lie." He felt the sword lift and he knew he was free to turn around.

The sword looked too awkward and large in the Filipino girl's hands. She was looking up at him with a new respect when she said, "You hate him, don't you?" Mexico smirked, now free to show his Aztec side "Of course, he thinks he can control my life. He thinks he can change who I am. It will be too late for him when he finally realizes how wrong he is. That's what the sword is for." Philippines shivered; she understood perfectly "You mean to kill him then?" Mexico reached out to take the sword, which she surrendered easily. Once he had it in hand, he ran his fingers over the blade to check for damage as he said "I am of an older bloodline and an older religion. Only blood pays for blood and only life can pay for a life. I plan to pay him back in kind for murdering my mother, and by doing so I will win my freedom."

Philippines walked over to the bed and sat down awkwardly. She kept her eyes on Mexico, obviously entranced. Mexico, once he was sure that the blade was not at all injured, placed the blade in the bottom of his traveling chest. He then put layers of clothing back on top of it, effectively hiding the blade. After he was sure that it was hidden, he turned back to Philippines, who asked "If you hate him, how can you force yourself to look at him and lie? Have you ever shown him your hate?" Mexico walked over to the bed and sat down next to her.

Then he answered "I used to let it slip through from time to time. I thought he didn't see what lied beneath. But Juan told me that I was not lying effectively enough. He told me that he could see that Spain did not trust me completely." Philippines shifted her position on the bed slightly before saying, "If he didn't trust you before, how can he trust you now? It seems that he does trust you, especially if he is letting you control me." It was the same question that Mexico had asked himself months ago. But Argentina had also given him the answer to this, and it was by far the most important insight Mexico had learned from Argentina.

Now he vocalized it so that Philippines would understand "You need to understand that Spain is a devout Catholic and he fears his God. Killing my mother and the Incan empire has tormented what little conscience he has to him, raising me is his penance for his deed. So, you see, he wants to trust me, He wants to believe that he has been a good enough brother for me to truly love him. He wants to believe he has won God's forgiveness. I play to that and pretend I respect him for what he did, even if I may not know what he did."

This statement was followed by a couple seconds of silence where Philippines seemed to be thinking. Mexico knew exactly what she was going to ask next, it was the next most logical question. She proceeded to ask it "So if you have his trust and you have the opportunity, why have you not cut his throat yet?" Mexico responded with the answer he told himself "I need to have the right opportunity. I know that I will eventually be able to raise an army and take him down. But my time has not yet come, too much of my population is loyalists. If I were to rebel now, it would tear me apart from the inside out."

The sky outside of the window was darkening, and Mexico did not fail to notice it. He needed to find Philippines a room soon. They could not go on talking like this all night. He stood up abruptly, leaving the Asian girl sitting on the bed. He walked over to the door and pulled it open, saying as he did so "We'll have time to speak later. Needless to say, you must not spread what you have heard outside of this room. It is your word against mine. Who do you think Spain would believe?" She stood up as well, which seemed to make her hair dance again. Her dark eyes had turned back into ebony jewels, which were filled with a fascinating kind of cunning.

Mexico couldn't help but think that, with the right training, he could harness that cunning and use it to further his own exploits. Once her temper was under control, this girl could be a weapon and a very effective one at that. But at the moment, she was more likely to be a liability. He shouldn't have told her all that he did; now it was likely that she would let it slip in some moment of anger. He would have to keep a close eye on her from now on. But, as he had said, she had no real proof that his loyalty did not belong to Spain, so it would be her word against his and Spain trusted Mexico.

The girl walked over to the door and looked up at Mexico "Your lack of trust in me is somewhat sad. But, I do understand, we have only just met." Mexico responded "Of course I do not trust you, girl. You will have my trust when you have earned it". She smirked, although there was still hesitation "You don't have to call me that, Mexico. I have a name" He arched his eyebrow skeptically "Oh and what would you rather I call you?" She was still smiling when she said "You can call me Piri or Philippines, but preferably not 'girl'." Mexico applauded her for her confidence, even if it was slightly irritating "I'll keep that in mind, girl"


	23. Chapter 23

America cut in again "She never let me call her Piri!" Mexico groaned, these interruptions were as random as they were irritating "Maybe that's because you're a complete idiot. I understood her or she understood me. Either way, we were of the same breed. You chose to try and keep her in a cage, she doesn't work that way." America rolled his eyes "This coming from the man that stabbed her in the back. I think you're the last person who should be defending Philippines." Mexico looked about ready to hit America "Oh you just had to go there. I had no choice, as you will see when I get there. I do care about her, despite what my actions would suggest." America rolled his eyes "What did you do with her that night?" The darker of the two answered "She roomed with Venezuela. Barbara thought Piri was a problem child in need of guidance, so she was eager to take her in. The next morning was interesting though."  
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Mexico rolled over and opened his eyes slightly. He caught sight of a blurred figure with long dark hair. His heart skipped a beat and he jumped a couple inches in his shock. He said groggily, facing towards the female figure "What the Hell!?" Philippines said sharply "I want to talk." Mexico groaned and grabbed a pillow "Well I wanted to sleep, but it appears neither of us is going to get what we want." Philippines seemed to be ignoring this statement when she said "I want to learn from you. I don't have the control to lie, but you do." Mexico finally gave up on the thought of sleep and sat up.

It seemed at this moment Philippines noticed that Mexico was hardly wearing any clothing. She didn't blush, instead she smirked "I see. You're rather muscled as well as being a good liar." Mexico refused to feel self conscious about the fact that Philippines was right there looking at him. Instead he responded "I will make you a deal, I'll teach you if you promise to be loyal to me and only me." Philippines smiled back "Of course, I have no reason to be loyal to Antonio." This time Mexico couldn't help but laugh, he understood her eagerness but he also understood that she didn't understand what she was giving herself over to. He clarified "I need you to understand that I will spare no rigor because you are a girl. The training I have in mind will be very hard both mentally and physically. You will hate me at times. I need your promise that no matter what I do, you will not turn on me. Can you accept those terms?"

She looked down at her hands for a couple seconds before saying "I can, I have very little choice as far as I can tell. I would rather hate you and gain something from it than hate Spain to no avail." Mexico nodded slightly, satisfied that the girl knew what she was getting herself into. He stood up and stretched, getting the knots out of his back. Philippines spoke again "So, when do I start my training? I hope that it's soon." The Aztec man smiled back "I adore your eagerness, but you should not be so hasty. First I need to know what exactly you want from this and what past training you have." Philippines was already standing. She walked over to the trunk in the corner, the one that had the sword hidden at the bottom. She spoke as she pulled out a shirt and tossed it to Mexico "I need to learn the control that you have, and I need to know how to lie like you do."

Mexico caught the shirt and pulled it on "My control comes from a very stringent study of swordsmanship, which teaches one control over ones emotions. What you need is weapons training; the other abilities will come later. So I'll rephrase my question: Do you have any training with fighting. Judging by your attitude, you were raised to fight." She nodded again "I was raised in a warrior culture and I was raised to believe that I have the right to fight for my own autonomy. But, my only experience is with a staff." Mexico had suspected as much based on the rumors he had been hearing before her arrival. Her story sounded almost a bit too much like his own, perhaps that was why he felt the need to help and protect her.

He responded "Ah, I see. I know how you feel about being here then. I felt the same way. Spear was my first, it's not dissimilar." He walked over to a different corner, where a broom was leaning, probably left there the last time Texas has cleaned the room. He grabbed the wooden handle with both hands and planted his foot on the head of the broom. He twisted the handle hard, which broke the head of the broom cleanly off. He tossed the wooden shaft to the girl "Show me what you can do, girl". She growled as she caught the handle "I told you not to call me that!" Mexico responded "Land a blow, and then I will stop."

She twirled the staff between her fingers before charging forward. Mexico easily dodged to the side, which sent the girl straight towards the wall. She pulled herself up and glared at him. He spread his arms, inviting her to take another swing she swung for the ribs next, which was not hard for Mexico to dodge either. He smirked at the angry aggravated look on her face. Just to enrage her he said "You are even more desperately bad than I was my first lesson." This time she went for an up cutting blow that was meant to strike just above the hip and travel up the body, breaking ribs and the collar bone along the way.

This time Mexico was able to predict her attack before she made her move. He caught her arms with one hand and with the other he cleanly struck the staff and broke it in half. Philippines gasped "How did you do that?" Mexico let go of her arms and said "Your anger makes you easy to read. A heart worn on the sleeve is a heart that is easy to stab." He turned his back on the girl, although this was intentional. An honorable person wouldn't attack a man with his back turned, but being honorable was a weakness.

Philippines shifted one of the halves so that she had the opposite grip on it. She leaped and lunged for Mexico's back, intent on hitting a shoulder. He turned in time to deflect her leap and redirect her momentum. Her petite body hit the soft bed. It was enough force to knock the air out of her and both of the pieces of the makeshift staff out of her hands. Mexico seized the handle of a dagger from under his mattress and put it to her throat. Philippines automatically went still and said "That isn't fair, you introduced a new weapon." Mexico smirked "Here's your first lesson: Fighting fair will only get you killed by someone more underhanded. You have a lot to learn, girl".He put the dagger back under the mattress and walked away, saying as he did so "I expect you to clean up the mess you made of my room". He left her there surrounded by a mess of sheets and broken parts of the staff.

Mexico got out of the room before he ran into someone else that he really wasn't in the mood to talk to. Texas stepped out right in front of his brother in the middle of the hall. Mexico rolled his eyes and leaned slightly against the wall "It looks like it's going to be one of these kinds of mornings. What do you want now Diego?" Texas's eyes were shining with some sort of worry, but Mexico couldn't stir himself enough to care. The younger boy responded "Have you heard about the 13 colonies?" That seemed to be on everyone's minds, and it was irritating. Texas was most likely not attempting to expose Mexico's feelings about Alfred, and he was probably the only one. Although the primary emotion Mexico would show was contempt, but there was something else. He had somehow been able to forgive America for the remarks about Spain, but that hardly suggested he felt some kind of attraction between them.

All the same Mexico was aware that he needed to handle his emotions very carefully all the same, he couldn't trust anyone to keep his secret. He played this neutral "I have heard about the incidents". Surprise passed over Texas's face "Aren't you worried? They do border us and well… I care about them." Mexico picked up on the subtle change in his brother's manner of speaking "You're referring to Alfred as 'them', I wasn't aware he was more than one person. He seems to actually be one person with half a brain actually, but it's still the same." Texas nervously picked at the hem of his shirt as he said "I was referring to the fact that the 13 colonies is two people, Annabel is as much a part of it as Alfred is. If she gets hurt because of something idiotic Alfred did, then I'll…"

He stopped himself. Mexico caught onto it and he had to remind himself that Texas was, in fact, his brother and they both were concealing a much darker side. He refrained from commenting, it was better if Texas didn't know how easy he was to read. But he did let out a laugh "Oh, I see how it is. Diego, I do believe you are in love with that little blonde chica." As he expected, Texas looked down at his hands, which were still working on the bottom of his shirt. His gaze lingered there for a couple more seconds, and then he looked back up at his brother "I am not, at least I don't think I am. It's just that I am fond of her. I am also quite fond of Alfred, maybe more than I should be."

Mexico didn't stop himself from smirking, this was amusing. Texas was so transparent; Mexico could easily tell that his brother was at least partially in love with both of the Americans. He also had no idea that Alfred had feelings for Mexico, or he would have been more reserved about his feelings. Mexico couldn't hint at the fact either, it would drive a wedge between them and that could be catastrophic. He finally responded "They won't actually rebel, Alfred is all bluster but he isn't fool enough to actually go through with it. You don't need to worry."

Texas looked less than relieved "You didn't hear the argument he and Spain had, Alfred has more of a temper than I think you know." Mexico couldn't help but think back on the way that Alfred has snapped back and accused him of sleeping with Spain, there was a temper there. But yet again he responded "He's all bluff, England will sort it out with his colonies soon."


	24. Chapter 24

At this point America was laughing and looking slightly offended "So, just to be clear, you didn't think that I had the balls to actually rebel." Mexico nodded in response "To my credit, no one else thought you would actually do it, including England. That is part of why you won." America continued to chuckle "I thought I won because of my brilliant use of strategy." Mexico smirked in response "Oh don't kid yourself, Alfred, your strategy usually consists of charging at the enemy and hoping for the best." America had no response to this and instead decided to change the subject "So what did you do to start training Philippines?"

Mexico stood up and walked over to the window, this seemed to distress America greatly "Where are you going?" Mexico glanced back over his shoulder and said "My legs were falling asleep; I need to stretch them if I am going to keep talking. You do realize we have been doing this for hours." He absentmindedly opened the blinds and looked at the moon. Alfred was slightly uncomfortable about this turn of events "Close the blinds, anyone can see in here and both of us aren't wearing anything". Mexico replied with a smirk "Yeah, whoever is out in the middle of the night will see my amazing body and their night will be much better. Stop being such a prude." America huffed indignantly but didn't say anything; this stinging remark was one that Mexico often directed at him.

The other finally answered America's question "I combined lots of house work with intensive weapons training during the nights. Spain thought I was breaking her wild spirit with the heavy chores and in a way I was. The point was to teach her discipline. Within the first few weeks she hated my guts, within the first few months, I think she wanted to kill me in my sleep." Alfred nodded "If I had tried that with her, she would have really killed me". Mexico was not surprised by this "You really don't know how to deal with her, Alfred. It's all about respect. She didn't respect you, just like she didn't respect Spain." America responded with a slight laugh "And she respected you?" Mexico responded, still not looking at America "I did get her to agree to put up with all my tyranny, didn't I?" America nodded, although Mexico didn't see it.

The blonde then changed the subject again "When did you go back to Spain? I know that's where you were when I started writing to you." Mexico finally turned around so that his back was to the window and said "It was a while after I adopted Piri, I lost track of exactly how long. I was only in Madrid for a few weeks when I got your first letter. I suppose you want me to tell you about returning to Spain." America nodded again eagerly. Mexico sighed again and took one long last pull from the cigarette stub that he was still holding on to and said "Alright Alfred, I'll tell you about that if you tell me why you started writing to me, because I never figured that one out". America smiled boyishly and said "Fine, we have a deal"  
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Mexico fell into a new routine, he spent most of the day supervising Philippines and sometimes talking to Texas about business matters. He had also taken a strange interest in America's little acts of rebellion, which were going from bad to worse. The house had long since emptied, most of the other countries had left and gone back to their own respective homes. As it was, Philippines and Texas were the only two people who were around consistently. Even Argentina had taken a somewhat apologetic leave and disappeared. They all seemed to have had enough of Spain, who had inexplicably decided to remain in the colonies.

Every evening, Mexico and Spain dined together. It was mostly a way of lulling Spain into a false sense of security, the more casually friendly their relationship, the more comfortable Spain would be. The casual conversation was also an opportunity to loosen Spain's lips to get a better sense of the state of the empire. Spain was trying to hide the fact that the empire was slowly spinning out of control, although it was stalled by the fact that England was very busy with America's rebellious behavior. It was one of those nights when Spain made a proposition

Spain was already sitting down when Mexico came in late, although he did look up at his colony. Mexico sat across the table without saying a word, he didn't need to. Spain looked up at him and started talking "You're late, what were you doing?" This was not the first time that Mexico had been late, but this was the first time that Spain inquired after the reason. This indicated that Spain had something really pressing to talk about. Mexico responded with the most convenient response "Philippines was being more troublesome than usual and I had to deal with her". Spain nodded curtly, which indicated that he took the excuse.

Mexico let them lapse into silence so that Spain could hurry up and spit out whatever he wanted to say. It worked as he expected it to. Spain continued talking "History has been made today, but I don't suppose you were paying attention to international happenings". Mexico took note that it must something really important that he was building up to, because he was stalling. It was Spain's usual style. But Mexico was in mood to listen to Spain pander. He said simply "Cut to the chase, what happened?" Spain looked down and then back up at Mexico, obviously a little shell shocked before he said "You are always so abrupt, I like that about you. I'll just get to the point then; the first shots were fired between The English troops and the Colonial militia in Lexington and Concord. The war for independence has officially begun it seems."

Mexico couldn't help but be shocked by this. He hadn't expected or anticipated this, it didn't figure into his plans for his own independence. But in this case he could outwardly show his surprise, it was expected "I take back what I said about Alfred not being an idiot. He's out of his mind; there is no possible way for him to win a war with England. I expect this is going to last less than a year, England is a very strong Empire". After he finished saying this he noticed that Spain was smiling. This indicated that he wasn't actually sad about the turn of events, "Agreed. I suspect that we are seeing the end of the 13 colonies. Arthur should punish treason in the only reasonable way: death". Mexico understood perfectly why Spain wanted Alfred dead. He saw the American as competition for Mexico's affection. There was a part of the Aztec boy that was somewhat sad about the prospect of America dying but he didn't understand why. He had no reason to care about the idiot, and at this point any sign of attachment would be bad. He had to turn this conversation away from America before some of the confusing mix of emotions slipped out.

He chose a very ambiguous transition "Do you think England could really kill the boy with how attached he is?" Spain picked up the butter knife and twirled it absentmindedly between his fingers "He needs to do it, the boy is deliberately being treasonous, and for that he should be punished". Mexico leaned forward slightly and replied "You said they weren't too dissimilar from us. So, hypothetically, if it were me and you, what would you do? Would you kill me for my betrayal?" Spain's face drained of blood and the knife stopped spinning. Mexico could almost hear the wheels spinning in Spain's head. A couple prickly silent seconds passed before Spain finally said "How can you ask me to decide that?"

Mexico maintained his stoic composure "It is the same decision that England is making right now. It is not so simple is it?" Spain nodded slightly, as though he was agreeing with the purpose. But his eyes were still uncertain of the answer as he spoke "I could not kill you unless you had completely renounced me. If your heart became so treasonous that you truly hated me, then I would have no choice." Spain believed this to be purely hypothetical, but Mexico knew better. This response was diplomatically vague, but it revealed a very important hesitation. In his heart, Spain could not even contemplate the idea of having to kill Mexico. That was important. Once the younger did rebel, and he was certain that the time was getting closer at hand, he would have the advantage of knowing that Spain would hesitate.

He could also use the statement against Spain in the moment. He feigned a slight shock, being sure not to overact "Antonio, you could kill me as if I am nothing?". If it was possible, Spain's cheeks got even paler. He failed to speak, although his lips continued to move. This was exactly what Mexico had been expecting and he let his own plan run. Mexico stood up and said "Your silence is revealing. I thought I meant more to you than that." He stood up and started to storm out. Spain did the most predictable thing he could, he yelled after Mexico desperately "Alejandro, wait! I need to explain. You can't leave me like this!"

Mexico stopped walking and waited for Spain to speak. The Spaniard did just that "I didn't mean that. Of course I could not kill you, unless I had no other choice. To do so would be like ripping my own heart out." Mexico turned back around and walked up to Spain, who was also standing now. He now knew how much Spain cared and he could use it to his advantage Spain looked supremely relieved. Mexico took the chance to speak "I overreacted, I am certain of your love for me. And you can be certain that I will never rebel against you".

Spain smiled as he replied "To show my love for you, I am going to give you something you have longed for" This caught the other off guard. What Mexico most desired was revenge and that was something that Spain could not give him. Other than that, he longed for liberty and that was something else that Spain would not give him. So, he was not certain what Spain was hinting at. The other read the confusion on Mexico's face and said "I have arranged for us to go back to Madrid in a few days. You will finally be reunited with Catalina, which is something I know you have been wishing for."

Mexico couldn't help feel guilty about how easily he had forgotten his fiancé. She was a blur on the edge of his mind, he remembered that he loved her, but he couldn't feel it anymore. He felt no guilt over being unfaithful either. The emotions were all disconnected. He should miss Puerto Rico, but he didn't. To mask the lack of emotion, he looked down at his feet as though overcome. This turned out to be the wrong thing to do. His emotional vulnerability was apparently too tempting for Spain.

Spain took a step forward and closed the space between the two of them. Mexico didn't notice this until he felt Spain's hand on his face. At this point he looked back up at Spain. The green eyes were clouded over with lust and the Spaniard spoke in a soft rough voice "To think, I am going to hand you over to a woman. I only have a few days before you will spend all your time with her again. It will be so hard for me, especially now that we are so close." Their eyes connected and Spain's words seemed to fail him and he leaned in and captured Mexico's lips.

As soon as Spain made contact, he could no longer restrain himself, the passion was quite obvious in the kiss. This time Mexico didn't push him away, he couldn't think of a good reason other than his own utter disgust. Even the taste of Spain's tongue in his mouth made him want to gag. He was about to try and get Spain off him again, when Spain's hand found the spot on the other's back that drove Mexico crazy. Just like the last time they were in this position, the Aztec boy was instantly lost in the sensation. He had no way to stifle his moans with Spain's mouth so crushingly against his own.

Spain disengaged the kiss and said in Mexico's ear "I have tamed you, and yet I still taste the wild on your lips." Mexico wanted to object, but all that came out of his mouth was heavy breathes. Spain kissed hungrily down the skin of Mexico's throat. Between kisses, he spoke "My brother said I would never do anything right, but here I am. I have the child of the Aztec empire trembling under my hand." These words broke through the haze of sensation. The shame they conjured in him was overwhelming and crushing. He was Aztec and would not submit to this indignity.

He gently pushed Spain off of him, it was meant to be a reproach, not a hostile gesture. Spain hardly looked happy about being reproached, and he said "Why do you always push me away when you seem to enjoy yourself? This is our last chance to do this before we return to Spain?" Mexico couldn't tell him the truth without revealing other secrets, so he deferred to a different excuse "I am to be married and although I may love you as my colonizer, I cannot commit the sin of adultery."

Spain scoffed. He turned around and grabbed a glass of wine off of the table. He took a drink of it before saying "I made that engagement; I can unmake it just as easily if it bothers your conscience so much." Mexico could hardly believe what he was hearing. His engagement to Puerto Rico was Spain's way of binding the boy to the empire and it seemed far too valuable to give up for the sake of the Spaniard's lust. Spain put down the glass and stepped forward, this time softly caressing Mexico's face as he said "I don't need you to sin to be with me, mi amour." He kissed his colony of the cheek, and there was something almost gentle about it. Mexico scrambled for a new excuse, anything that would keep Spain from taking him.

In his desperation, he chose a truth, but not one that would endanger him "Romano would never forgive me. You would do better to give your affections to him." This actually managed to stop Spain in his tracks. His eyes went wide with genuine shock "Lovi hates me, he makes it clear every time he sees me." This time Mexico was the one who scoffed, simulatiously taking a step away from Spain "Then you are blind. The looks he throws at your back are full of longing. He loves you, not like I do, as a colonizer and a lord, but as a lover." Spain took a moment to come to terms with this. Mexico took the chance to leave the room.  
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This time Mexico actually stopped talking to let Alfred comment because he could tell that the other was seething with rage. Alfred said simply "How many times did Antonio try that?" Mexico had expected this question and answered "A couple more, would you like me to skip those occasions? Antoino has always been very bad about controlling his passions." Alfred shifted his position on the bed uncomfortably "Alejandro, I can't tell if you are just being cruel to me, or just being brutally honest. You are my boyfriend, I care about you and hearing how Spain made advances at you makes my blood boil." Mexico responded with a laugh "You are far too jealous for your own good. I despise Spain. He can make whatever advances he likes, I will never fuck him and I never did. So, you need not be so jealous."America responded "It's natural, I don't want to think about you with someone else. So, you went back to Spain after that?" Mexico turned back to the window as he said "No, I made very important arrangements before I left for Spain".  
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Texas looked up at his brother with utter and complete shock "You want me to do what?" Mexico repeated his requests carefully, making sure to be very clear "I want you to start altering the financial records. We can start pocketing some of our own prophets. Make it gradual at first so it isn't noticeable." Texas nervously moved his hands absentmindedly over the ledgers on the table in front of him. He kept looking down as if expecting to see the right words written on one of the pieces of paper. This strategy seemed to fail him, so Texas looked back up at his brother "It's not that I can't do it. It will be easy for me. But you do realize, brother, that this is treason."

Mexico understood why this was his brother's response. Every colony in the empire had been so thoroughly indoctrinated that it was only natural to call out treason. Now was the time to level with Texas, or at least appear to. He said smoothly "Brother, We both know that tensions are rising. We need the money for our own protection. The English seem especially fond of raiding our ports. It is only treason if we use it to build an army to overthrow Spain. We aren't going to do that." It was a lie, but Texas need not know that yet. The money was to finance a militia, which would be necessary when the time for rebellion finally came. But it had another purpose. The drain on Spain's income would also weaken the empire greatly, especially with the income of both the Philippines and Mexico under Mexico's control.

As the empire fell apart, Mexico might have the chance to finally break free. Texas laughed nervously "I doubt Spain will see it that way. If he finds out, what do we do then?". Mexico had already prepared a response "Then I will talk to him, you know he favors me enough to allow this." That was not true either, but that didn't mean there wasn't a precaution. If Spain were to find out, then Mexico would simply claim he had no knowledge of the embezzlement. He could then let his brother take all the blame. Texas didn't suspect the ulterior motive at all, He believed in his brother fully. He said "Alright, if you say it is alright then I will do it. Just be sure that Spain doesn't know." Mexico nodded now that he was sure his brother was going to follow his instructions.  
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Philippines stared at Mexico blankly while she picked up the bucket she had been using to clean the floor. She put the bucket on a nearby table before she turned back to him and said "You're going to take me to Spain with you?". Mexico nodded in reply "I want you with me at court". She smirked as she picked up the brush that accompanied the bucket "Is it possible that you have grown fond of me, Mexico?" Philippines was the one person who he could be completely honest with because she already knew his biggest secret, so he gave him the most honest answer "No, Piri, I just don't want to let you out of my sight. Your self-control is still lacking and you need supervision."

She placed the brush next to the bucket before responding to Mexico "Are you going to make me do all the housework there too?" Mexico responded "That is Spain's choice, it's his home so we have to abide by his rules." She nodded pensively "Well, he doesn't like me, so I don't think things will be any better there". Mexico could hear the sadness in her voice, and he understood why. She had just gotten used to this place after being uprooted from her own and now she had to change again. Mexico tried to be hard on her most of the time, but this was just so familiar.

He put his hand on her shoulder gently and said "It won't be that bad, I can talk Spain into letting you have time to adjust. Trust me, there are things to look forward to." She perked up, but only slightly, her voice was still subdued as she responded "What are you looking forward to. You can more easily orchestrate the rebellion from here". Mexico smiled slightly, he had forgotten that Philippines didn't know he was engaged "There is more to life than hate, you'll learn that someday. My fiancé lives in Spain". Philippines reacted to this far more dramatically than Mexico expected her to.

She jumped slightly and shrugged Mexico's hand off her shoulder like it was something poisonous. She looked his squarely in the eyes and said "You're engaged? How is that possible?" Mexico shrugged, a little confused on how to answer that question, "I love her, and she loves me. It's that simple." Philippines still didn't look satisfied with this answer "Does she know you though? Does she know your plans like I do?" Again, Mexico felt he owed her an honest response "She doesn't know. She wouldn't understand."She responded as soon as he finished his sentence "So I am the only woman who knows the true you."

There was something so hilarious about the whole situation that Mexico couldn't help but laugh, which enraged the Filipino. She snapped "What is so funny about that." Mexico responded "Firstly, you are a girl not a woman. Secondly, there is one women who knows my truth, and you are not her." Understandably, Philippines gawked at him "But, you said that your fiancé didn't know". Mexico smirked "She doesn't, but I didn't say she was the only women waiting for me back in Europe." He wasn't going to tell her everything about his affair with Brazil, she already knew enough of his secrets to expose him to Spain if she chose to, she didn't need a way to tie him to Portugal. He didn't allow her time to ask more questions "You had better start packing, we leave in two days"


	25. Chapter 25

Being back in Spain wasn't as unpleasant as Mexico expected it to be, it was slightly stifling, yes, but it was not horrible. Being back at Spain's house was almost exciting in a way. He was standing outside of Spain's house at the moment, waiting for Philippines to carry the luggage up from the carriage. It was very heavy luggage, so it was taking her a long time.

She finally dragged the large chest up to where Mexico was standing. She looked up at the house and let out a long breathe that she had apparently been holding. She turned to Mexico and said simply "It looks almost exactly like yours. That's a bit creepy. Did you build yours to look like his?" Mexico glared at her "He built my house; I plan to remodel when I have the time." He changed the inflection on the last word so that she would clearly understand that when he had time meant after he had won his independence. She nodded and let go of the side of the chest she had been holding. The heavy chest then thumped to the ground, causing a small cloud of dust to rise around it. Philippines looked up at Mexico expectantly "I'm scared and excited all at the same time, is that normal?" Mexico couldn't help but smile a little just because he understood exactly how she felt "You'll do just fine. You're walking into a nest of backstabbing, self serving, self flattering snakes." She responded incredulously "That sounds horrible, how can you know that I will be able to deal with it?" Mexico smirked again "Because, girl, you've already pledged yourself to the worst of them, namely me."

He gestured to the chest and said "Bring that along, girl. Oh and a couple things. Firstly, I am called New Spain here, not Mexico". At this point Philippines interrupted "You let people call you by Spain's name? That makes it seem like you're married or something, you might as well wear a sign that says 'I'm Spain's bitch'". Mexico turned to her and looked her squarely in the eyes when he said "It is expected of me and being addressed by Spain's name is a very important status sign." Philippines looked like she wanted to say something else, but Mexico's ice cold expression told her that it would be wiser to be quiet.

Mexico continued on his original train of thought "Secondly, remember that you can't hurt me by revealing my secrets, but I can hurt you. This is more important than ever. There are those in court who would give you quite a lot for my downfall, you can't give them anything or I will destroy you before you can destroy me." He thought specifically of Peru, his long time rival, who would love nothing more than to see Mexico's downfall. He didn't mention to Piri that the secrets were only harmless if they came from her lips. She had no credibility in Spain's eyes, but Peru had enough that he could bring Mexico down. Most likely, the Inca boy would attempt to get secrets out of Philippines if he thought there were useful ones to be had. The best case scenario was that Philippines never hinted at what she knew, but that would be almost impossible considering her rather volatile temper. Thus why he had to scare her into believing that she needed to guard his secrets like her life depended on it.

Once he saw the shock and fear pass over her face, he was satisfied that the message had sunk in. He turned back to the house and started walking rather quickly. Philippines immediately started dragging the chest again, swearing under her breath as she did so in a language that Mexico did not understand. He assumed that it was her native language. He didn't turn back to look at her, that would give her the impression that there might be a reprieve in store for her and there wasn't. She needed to be able to endure through suffering without objection, as Mexico had learned to do by being Spain's presence for so long. Besides, he had other things that he would rather devote his thought to as he came back to Spain's house.  
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America cut in again "I don't get it, you were so mean to her, but she still hung on your every word. But every time I tried to impose a little discipline, she fought back." Mexico could have continued to diss America, but he knew that there was a sadder and truer answer. He might as well level with America now. His voice was somewhat subdued when he said "People change with time. Once you have tasted deceit once, it is hard to get the bitter taste out of your mouth. I wounded her heart so deeply that it is unlikely that she ever would have trusted you. When I took her in, she was a naïve little girl. When you took her in, she was a jaded woman. That's why she fought so hard against you. Because like it or not, you and I are very much alike, she probably saw history repeating and closed herself off."

America was silent for a couple minutes and Mexico feared for a moment that he had been too philosophical and the whole comment had sailed over America's head. But the other finally responded "That was really insightful. You really understand her, don't you?" Mexico wordlessly nodded. Thinking too hard about Philippines always weighed on his heart because he was so ashamed of the way he had betrayed her. He had little choice in the matter. But that made no difference. America could sense that Mexico's mood was dropping dramatically and moved quickly to change the subject "I'm guessing that the first person that you reunited with was Cat?" Mexico nodded again "You are quite correct, she was the easiest one to fool, so I started with her."  
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Spain had informed Mexico of Puerto Rico's whereabouts as soon as they both returned to the house, and Mexico suspected that he could see an attempt to expedite a painful process. Spain didn't want Mexico and Puerto Rico back together. But the situation was inevitable, so Spain was trying to get the pain over with as soon as possible. He found her standing next to a large window looking out at the courtyard in front of the house. She looked like she had aged a couple years since he had been gone, which was not a bad thing, if anything she looked more beautiful.

Mexico walked up to her. She heard his footsteps and turned to look at him. Their eyes met and Mexico felt a familiar warmness in his heart. Maybe he did still love her, but it still didn't feel the way it had when they first met. She spoke first "I was watching for you, I knew you were coming home today. Who is the girl?" He had already thought of how he was going to explain Philippines to Puerto Rico "That's Philippines. I expect you have already heard that I took her under my wing as my ward." He reached out and took hold of her hand gently and continued "She's a lost child, Cat. She's so alone and confused by our world. I just felt the need to take care of her and teach her".

He could tell that he had said the right thing by the way that Puerto Rico's eyes lit up. She smiled sweetly and lightly stroked his cheek with the hand he was not holding "That's so sweet of you. I almost thought you couldn't get any more perfect. And to think, I was worried I was going to have to be jealous of her." Mexico smiled to himself; he had her believing every word. Women were easy, so emotional and trusting. He replied "You don't need to be jealous, she's just a child. You are the only woman I love, and you always will be."

In his own mind he added Just you and Brazil. She took a small step forward so that they were closer together. She said her voice softer, "I've missed you so much. It's been an eternity since we saw each other." Mexico let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist. He replied with a lie "I thought about you every day we were apart. Nothing makes me happier than being back here with you." With that he leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the lips. He had quite forgotten how sweet and perfect this felt. She was so pure and innocent; it was like kissing a piece of heaven. Part on him knew that she deserved so much better than him, but he blocked it out.

The kiss was interrupted by the sound of Philippines clearing her throat rather loudly. Both Mexico and Puerto Rico broke apart and looked at Philippines, whose jet black eyes were narrowed skeptically. Her expression was hard to read, it was critical and confused, but there was also something like repressed anger. She said pointedly "I'm sorry to interrupt you". She seemed to be talking directly to Mexico and ignoring Puerto Rico's existence, which was quite the accomplishment considering that the two were entwined. Mexico knew what Piri was doing and he didn't approve of it. She was attempting to make Puerto Rico feel alienated from the discussion. He intervened and said, while glaring at Philippines "Piri, I would like you to meet my fiancée, Catalina. Cat, this is Piri. Feel free to ignore her general lack of tact."

Puerto Rico smiled cordially and disentangled herself from Mexico. She took a step towards Philippines and extended her hand "It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope you can come to think of me as a sister." Philippines did not shake the other's hand, although she did look like she was considering for a moment. After looking at the hand for a moment, she looked back up at Mexico and said "Right, Alejandro, I have put your things in your new room. Spain wanted me to tell you that he assigned you to a room by yourself this time, whatever that means." With that, she turned and walked away.

Puerto Rico turned back to Mexico and said "Why doesn't she like me?" To this query Mexico honestly didn't have an answer. He didn't understand why Philippines was being so hostile. It was strangely vindictive, but Philippines had no reason to dislike Puerto Rico. In his mind Mexico put it down to girls being catty. But, he responded "Like I said, she has yet to learn how to be tactful. She will warm up to you". She still looked rather put out. Mexico closed the space between them and gently put his hands on her face "Listen to me, Cat. You're beautiful and sweet and wonderful. Piri will see that eventually and she will love you. Don't worry about it". Puerto Rico smiled again and looked back up at Mexico "You are so good to me, Alejandro. I will put Piri out of my mind for now".  
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"I thought I sensed more arrogance in the house." Mexico recognized Peru's voice at once, but the words tipped him off too. He had just parted from Puerto Rico and was walking back to his room to make sure that Philippines was actually unpacking correctly. But Peru's remark stopped him dead in his tracks. He said in response "Have I done something to make you dislike me more than you did when I left". He turned to look at Peru, who had stepped out of an adjoining hallway, in order to gauge his facial expressions. Peru looked irritated, which was to be expected considering that his rival had just returned.

Mexico also became aware that he was now a couple inches taller than Peru. The Incan boy looked to have aged, but he didn't seem to have gotten any taller. Peru responded to Mexico's question "You have been monopolizing Antonio's attention, which has made me even more irrelevant." Mexico wondered to himself if Peru had always been this easy to read and he had just failed to see it before. Peru was very angry, but his answer wasn't the reason. He had chosen an answer that was believable and convenient, but not true. Mexico wasn't going to let Peru lie to him. He raised his eyebrow slightly when he said "Yes, but that isn't the reason you're mad at me, now is it. Be honest with me for once."

At this Peru seemed to snap "If you want the truth, Mexica, I will tell you. After you left, I saw the state Enrique was in. He was a mess and I had to console him. You're a cold hearted bastard!" This was the most genuine answer Mexico knew he would get. It was strange, he had no idea that Peru cared for Colombia at all. He judged it better to not show Peru any overabundance of emotion. He was the closest thing that Mexico had to an actual enemy at the moment. He remained stoic as he replied "So, what does this have to do with you?"

Peru took a confrontational step forward and said "That doesn't matter! I want you to stay away from Enrique; I won't let you lead him on again!" Mexico matched the other's step forward and said simply, allowing a sinister edge into his voice "If you want to stop me, go ahead and try. I will not take orders from you." Peru's eyes widened and he took a step backward, obviously backing down "There's something different about you. It's scary." Mexico couldn't help but laugh "Maybe you just have forgotten how to handle me. Or maybe" He took another step forward so he was very close to Peru "you're just coming to understand that I am superior to you." The Incan boy took a couple steps backwards and then turned to walk away, concluding the conversation with "Fuck off, arrogant bastard". Mexico was left standing there wondering if he really had changed, or if he just hadn't noticed before.  
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He finally made it to his room without another encounter. He actually found this rather odd, considering he was expecting to see Colombia at some point. He, of all people, had the most unfinished business with Mexico. The Aztec boy assumed that Colombia must simply still be mad at him. He pushed open the door to his new room, which he couldn't help but notice was very close to Spain's room. Inside the room, Philippines was sitting on a chair having a conversation with no other than Colombia, who was sitting comfortably on the bed. Both of them looked up when Mexico entered the room.

Colombia's mouth curled into a smirk and he said "Hola, Alejandro. I've been meaning to speak to you for quite a while." Philippines intoned "Actually, Enrique was just explaining to me why you two need to talk." Mexico's heart sunk at these words. He didn't need Philippines to know about his forays into homosexuality. It could potentially be very damaging to their relationship depending on Philippines' religious leanings. He turned to Philippines and said "Girl, leave the room. Now." She glared at Mexico before leaving, but complied all the same.

Once she had left, Colombia said smoothly "She's prettier than I expected. I dare say that she's even prettier than your fiancé." The Aztec boy walked over so he was standing in front of Colombia and asked "What did you tell her?" The other continued to smirk as he stood up. There was barely any space between them. Colombia replied "Nothing damaging. Yet." Mexico already knew that Colombia had seen his dark side, so hiding it here wasn't really a concern. His voice dropped into a growl as he replied "Is that a threat?" Colombia didn't seem intimidated at all. His smirk remained as he said "Do you want it to be?" He leaned in closer and said in Mexico's ear "Have you noticed that your voice has gotten deeper? It's so fucking sexy." The other's voice was so smooth and sensual that Mexico found himself wondering if it would be worth it to grab Colombia, pin him down on the bed, and ravage him. It certainly sounded tempting, but the consequences would be worse than the momentary pleasure.

Mexico took a step back in order to create some space to breathe. He defaulted back to his old reason "Enrique, I'm no less engaged than I was when I left. I am still not going to sleep with you." Yet again Colombia seemed unaffected. He looked like he was expecting this response and had already prepared a rebuttal "Is that so? Your actions indicate that you don't value fidelity as much as you say you do." Mexico snapped back "What are you talking about?" The other responded with a slight laugh "Don't pretend you don't know. There is really only one reason why a man brings a younger, prettier woman into his home."

The words hit the Aztec boy hard. He hadn't even thought about Philippines in a sexual way, but everyone here had jumped to the conclusion that attraction was the reason he had taken her in. He was quick to correct Colombia's assertion "I'm not sleeping with her either". The verbal volley continued when Colombia responded again "You aren't sleeping with her yet. I don't blame you, she's still very young, but as she ages, you will." A couple seconds of silence passed as Mexico attempted to think of a response that sounded intelligent. Colombia took advantage of the silence to change the subject "You know what I never understood: You are so obviously attracted to me, but you push me away at every chance." Mexico responded "You aren't required to understand. I have my reasons."

Suddenly he had a radical thought; he could use an entirely different tactic on Colombia. The other wasn't wrong, he felt attracted to him. Apparently Mexico was not hiding it well enough. If he was to take control of the situation, he needed to change how he was approaching this. He made direct eye contact with Colombia and his voice turned even darker as he said "You fascinate me, and" he took a step forward which meant he was very close to Colombia again, but this time he had the advantage. Colombia's dark brown eyes were fixed on Mexico's golden ones and his brazenness had melted. He looked completely mesmerized.

Mexico continued to talk "If I wanted to, I could find a way to be with you without anyone knowing." He took another step forward, which forced Colombia to step backwards as well. Mexico finished his thought "But I don't think I have adequate motivation yet." Colombia was completely dumbstruck now. Mexico took another half step forward and connected his lips with Colombia's. He was completely in control now, he was dictating how fast or slow this was going to be. Mexico knew the best way this was going to work was smooth and slow. He had one hand on Colombia's face and the other on the boy's hip. There was something electrifying about being in complete control of Colombia again. He moved his hand from Colombia's hip to the boy's butt. He moaned as Mexico squeezed his butt slightly.

It wasn't meant to be completely sexual; Mexico wasn't going to go all the way. This was a tease in order to keep Colombia intrigued. If Mexico could keep the boy sexually enthralled, then he could keep control of him. The kiss was carefully measured to have the right effect. After a couple minutes, Mexico released Colombia, who took a deep breath. Mexico leaned in and said as seductively as possible "That's all you get for now. If you want more, then you're going to have to do something for me first." Colombia's eyes had misted over, but his ability to come up with a response was far from gone "If you let me go farther, I would do so much for you." He leaned even closer and whispered in the other's ear  
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Mexico stopped talking for a moment, much to America's dismay. The blonde quickly said "Why did you stop? What did he say?" Mexico was glad it was dark because thinking back on Colombia's offer was making him blush. Telling America seemed like it was revealing some sort of secret. Mexico responded simply "Use your imagination; I expect you'll come to the right conclusion." He could hear America's brain working. There was a couple seconds of silence before the American broke the silence "You can't mean that he offered to…you know." The other couldn't help but laugh at how prudish his lover was when it came to mentioning sexuality. But he wasn't going to force America to express what he was thinking more "Yes, Alfred, that's it exactly and Enrique can be quite descriptive. As you can imagine, it got me a bit hot and bothered."  
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Mexico could feel the flush creeping up his face as Colombia pulled away with a devious smirk. The offer was tempting and he felt so turned on simply by the description. Colombia said, his voice returning to something that resembled normal volume "So, what do you say?" It took all of Mexico's will power to say "Not that it's not tempting, but the answer is still no." This was the only point at which Colombia looked crestfallen.

His eyes dropped slightly and he said "If that is really your answer, I will leave now." Mexico played this carefully; if he said simply "Yes" then he would risk losing his power over Colombia. He put his hand just under the boy's chin and tilted it back up. Their eyes met again and Mexico said "I will have you when the time is right, but now I must be careful. Just be patient for me." Colombia responded, still careful to not give in completely "You know I can wait, but can I trust you to give me what I want eventually?" Mexico moved his hand back to Colombia's cheek and said "Of course I will when you have deserved it." Colombia nodded "I will do whatever I can to deserve it." He leaned in and kissed Mexico on the cheek once before turning and leaving.  
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Spain didn't see any reason to stop having dinner with Mexico, even now that this was such an obvious sign of favor. For the first night back in Madrid, Mexico decided it would be best for him to be on time. He sat down across the table from Spain in complete silence. Spain looked up and said "How was your first day back in my home?" Mexico responded with a slight smile "It was pretty normal"


	26. Chapter 26

Mexico turned back to America and said "There you go, Alfred. That's what happened when I returned to Spain. Now it's your turn to tell me about how you ended up writing to me." America responded "Wait, you left something out!" Mexico vaguely wished he had another cigarette. He decided to exercise some restraint and just respond "Oh really, Alfred? What am I leaving out?" America said in response "Well, what about Brazil and Portugal?" Mexico sighed "Well they aren't directly part of me returning to Spain. But, if you really want to hear all the steamy details, then I will tell you". America's eyebrow arched up slightly, "Steamy? Now I really want to know." The darker man laughed "You're so strange. You don't want to hear about Spain, but you're perfectly ok with hearing about my sex life with Isabella."

The other failed to respond to the actual comment and said "Oh, is that Brazil's human name?" Mexico rolled his eyes "You know the fact that you don't know the actual names of most of the South American countries might be an indication that you're not well liked in this hemisphere." America scoffed "No one dislikes me that much. I mean, I'm charming, aren't I". The response was immediate "No, you're a complete idiot. I just happen to think you're cute when you're being stupid. You don't hear the reactions I get when the other Latin countries hear that I'm with you. They don't like you, trust me on this one." America looked down, obviously somewhat ashamed of his reputation "So…ummm…How about that story, Alejandro?"  
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It took Mexico a couple days to finally get the time to make the short trip to Portugal. He did it as soon as possible, because he had actually missed Brazil. The house was relatively quiet when Mexico arrived, but it didn't take him long to find someone. However, it was not who he expected. The boy that Mexico met first was very dark skinned, obviously African. He appeared to be at least a couple years younger than Mexico. He looked the Spanish colony up and down before saying in Portuguese with an odd accent "Who are you and why are you here?"Mexico responded, not even fazed by the comment, "I could ask you the same thing." The boy was about to say something in response when a very familiar female voice filled the air "Boy! Where did you run off to this time?" Mexico smiled, Brazil didn't sound like she had changed at all. She appeared around the corner, apparently in a rage. She fixed her gaze on the African boy, so much so that she didn't notice Mexico's presence for a moment. He cleared his throat loudly to draw her attention.

Brazil looked over at Mexico and her jaw dropped. She pushed the African boy out from between them, none too gently, and threw her arms around Mexico. He couldn't help but smirk "I take it you've missed me, Isabella?" She quickly released him and took a step backward, hurriedly attempting to tidy her hair. She said quickly "Of course not, idiot. I'm just surprised to see you back, that's all." The African boy attempted to intone on the conversation "Does someone want to explain what is going on?" Brazil snapped back "It's none of your business, boy! Go do something else and let the adults talk!" He cast Mexico one more loathing look before disappearing.

Mexico watched him go and then turned back to Brazil "Who the Hell is he?" Brazil looked as if she didn't want to really talk to him, but she answered all the same "That's Angola. He's one of a few African territories that Philip imports slaves from. With the tensions that are brewing over Africa, Philip figures it is safer to have them here." Mexico nodded and said "I suppose we aren't the exciting new colonies anymore. I take it you aren't excited about having him around." Brazil pushed a mass of curls up off her forehead in an irritated fashion, Mexico couldn't help but notice that Brazil looked tired. She let go of the curls, which fell back in her face, then she looked Mexico in the eyes and said "Do I look like I want to babysit some little black boy?" The scorn in her voice reminded Mexico that Brazil was very scornful to almost everyone who wasn't him.

He responded "Not good with children, that's something I didn't know about you". She scoffed "I would be with my own children." She paused and added "Or maybe I should say our children". Mexico immediately gasped. For a second he was completely speechless. Children with anybody was not something he was prepared to consider. At once, he wondered if it was at all possible for such a young country to be pregnant.

Brazil kept a straight face for a couple seconds before she started laughing "God, you men are so easy to freak out. I'm not planning on having any children anytime in the next few millennia at least." Mexico was so relieved that he let out a breath and put his hand to his chest "You can't do that to me! I swear my heart stopped." Brazil caught her breath, although she was still smiling "Phillip is going to be so happy to see you again. We better not keep him waiting." He nodded in response.  
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Portugal was busy with a map of Africa in another room; he seemed to be drawing borders. Brazil walked into the room first and announced rather loudly "Phillip, you're never going to guess who decided to show up." The Portuguese man turned around, but didn't verbally respond. Brazil gestured to Mexico, who presently walked into the room. Portugal looked completely shocked. Mexico walked farther into the room so that he and Portugal were closer together. He realized two things in that moment. Firstly, that he was now slightly taller than Portugal; secondly, that there was a young black girl sitting on the couch silently twisting a piece of frizzy hair around her finger.

Portugal recovered from the shock quickly and said "Well, how am I supposed to call you 'boy' when you're taller than me?" Mexico raised his eyebrows slightly "I suppose you'll have to find something else to call me other than my real name." Portugal smiled "I can't tell you how much I missed you. But of course, this isn't about me, it's about you. We should talk business." Portugal walked over to the couch and irritatedly said to the girl who was sitting there "Get out of here, Mozambique". She left without a single word. Portugal sighed "I have no idea how my brother deals with so many colonies. I've had my hands full with all of these African colonies." Mexico sat on the newly vacated coach and said as he did so "The truth? He leaves most of us to our own devices. He usually only interacts with his colonies when he needs to correct behavior." Portugal sat on another couch opposite the one that Mexico was sitting on. His green eyes showed a glimmer of fascination when he said "Or he hands a new colony to his favorite colony to manage."

Mexico easily picked up on what Portugal was talking about "Ah, you mean Philippines. I did adopt her." Brazil walked over to the couch and sat down next to Mexico. She leaned in and said very softly in Mexico's ear "We know you adopted her, but the real question is if you fucked her." Portugal heard what she said and responded "Isabella, that's not the point!" She turned to her colonizer and said with a slight snarl "It is to me. I want to know if I am being replaced by some little Asian bitch." Mexico responded to Brazil "She's a girl. I'm not sleeping with her, despite the fact that everyone thinks I am. Isabella, why would you object to sharing me? You're already sharing me with Catalina."

Yet again, Brazil scoffed "Yeah, but you're not actually sleeping with her." Portugal cut in sharply "Children! This is not about Alejandro's sex life, as interesting as that might be to both of you! It's about something bigger." Both of them immediately went quiet. Mexico was less than happy about be referred to as a child, but he respected Portugal enough to not make a big deal out of it. Once the other two were quiet, Portugal firmly said, "The girl is a risk, especially if she knows your plans. Is she a risk you can afford to take?"

Mexico nodded and leaned forward slightly, ignoring Brazil for the moment. This was a business talk between two men. He responded to Portugal with the truth, as the older man was one of the few people he could share the whole truth, "I saw potential in her, and she has raw talent, but no skills yet. Most importantly, she has rage and hate. She hates Spain, for petty reasons, but it is hate all the same. I can mold her into whatever I desire. A risk, yes. But the possible reward is beyond reckoning." Brazil made a snorting sound that indicated that she was not impressed.

Portugal shot her a look of irritation before turning back to Mexico "Does she know the truth about you? Does she know the full extent of your plans?" Mexico smirked "She thinks she does. She thinks I am working alone; she doesn't know about my ties to you or Isabella. She also thinks I have yet to act against Spain, when I have already." Portugal nodded "Good move, Mexico. What steps have you taken so far? My brother is cunning and bringing him down won't be easy." Mexico couldn't help but feel proud of himself. He had been working by himself for so long and it felt good to get validation from someone he respected. So, naturally he was eager to reveal the rest "I have started to siphon off my own profits to fund a militia. It will strengthen me at Antonio's expense. But in order to have my revolution, I need a reason for loyalists to join the rebellion. If another European country were to conquer Spain and plant their own monarch on the Spanish throne, then I would have a reason for even the most loyal creole to question my ties to Spain."

Portugal caught onto Mexico's meaning "Unfortunately, I can't be that country. Me and my brother have had out feuds and if I were to attack him, it would not look out of place. But, the sad truth of the matter is that my royalty is too closely related to my brother's. Any Portuguese prince can claim enough Spanish blood to keep the loyalty of the Spanish colonies. You will need a different pawn." This was the only point at which Mexico felt disheartened "I was counting on your involvement. Do you know anyone else who has a plausible enough grudge?" Portugal shook his head "I would say England, but he is busy dealing with his own colony. As you know, my brother usually allies with France and Prussia. I doubt they will intervene in a revolution, but they may if Spain is directly attacked." Mexico was already aware of Spain's connection to Prussia and France, although he had never met either of them. He knew that if was to succeed, he needed a way to keep the other two occupied. That was an issue he had not yet figured out how to resolve.

The best response he could offer was "I don't know what to do about them yet. But, I'm sure I can find a way to drive a wedge between them." Portugal nodded again "You are a clever boy, Mexico, you will find a way. I trust that by now you don't need me telling you what you should do. For now, I believe you and Isabella have some catching up to do." The smirk that accompanied last few words made the unspoken meaning obvious. The Portuguese man discreetly stood up and left the room.

When he was gone, Mexico finally turned to Brazil, who had not commented on most of the conversation. She was smirking, as if hardly holding back a witty comment. Mexico figured he might as well get the scornful banter out of the way "Go ahead, insult me. I know you want to." She leaned forward and kissed the Aztec boy on the lips. It was just as overwhelming as he remembered it being. She finally pulled back after a couple seconds and said "I was wondering if you were as good as I remembered you being. Let's find out, shall we." The boy didn't need any more prompting.

He swiftly moved closer to Brazil and started kissing her again, first on the lips and then down her neck. She purred like a cat as his hands moved under her clothing. It was familiar and somewhat different. They had done this before, but now that they were both more mature, it felt like something had shifted. Brazil climbed onto his lap so that her beautiful legs were straddling him. He noticed that she was wearing a light skirt instead of her usual trousers, which made it possible for Mexico to run his hand up her leg.

She said breathlessly "I've missed you, Mexico". He disengaged his mouth to respond "I'm sure you did." She smiled and put her hands on Mexico's shoulders "That's enough for your self-esteem, lover boy. If you want more praise, you've got to earn it." She gently pushed him back down so that he was lying on the couch. She eased Mexico's shirt off, with some help from him. The first thing she noticed was the golden medallion, which was resting on his heart. She spoke again "This is interesting, you've embraced your true self so much more than you did when you were last here. I like it." She leaned down and kissed his chest right next to the medallion. He couldn't help but arch and moan a little. She got in one more word before connecting their lips again "My beautiful Aztec prince, it's about time I remind you what you were missing." One more shift of her hips against his was enough to drive him over the edge.  
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Mexico straightened his shirt one more time, just to make sure that nothing was out of place. Brazil walked up behind him and played with his hair "You always get so agitated after we do this, it's very noticeable." Mexico shrugged agitatedly "I know what we're doing is wrong. I keep my calm around everyone else, just not you." Brazil brushed off Mexico's shoulder "Say what you will, you missed me as much as I missed you. You were feistier this time than ever." Mexico shrugged her off again, but this time he wasn't certain that he wanted to. Brazil changed the subject "I wish you luck in finding a European sucker. I doubt it will be hard for you. But make sure you do it soon." Mexico responded "I think I've finally figured out what to do when I've got one."


	27. Chapter 27

The room lapsed into silence when Mexico stopped talking. America whistled "Wow, I thought that whole thing between France and Spain was just a well-timed coincidence." Mexico responded "There's no such thing. Everything has a cause. I caused Spain's downfall more directly than most people realize." America shifted his position uncomfortably again "I'm beginning to think that I don't want to know what you did to get France to do your dirty work. He charges a price for his alliances; I know that better than anyone." A couple more seconds of silence passed, and then Mexico turned around to look at America as he spoke "I never asked you what you did for your alliance with France, but I know. You can't condemn me for what I did for France's action, when you gave him your virginity in exchange for his help."

All the blood seemed to drain from America's tan cheeks "How do you know that? I never told anyone about my deal with France, not even England." Mexico couldn't help feel sorry for his lover. America was still so naïve in some ways. He responded "Al, I hate to tell you this. But, no matter how secretive you were about this matter, France boasted about it as much as he could. I suspect he told England as soon as he could because he wanted to add insult to injury." America looked down, obviously ashamed "My God, I can't imagine what Arthur must have thought of me when he heard." The other answered "He thought you were whoring yourself out for your own advancement. In other words, for a very short time, you and I had the same reputation."

America looked back up at Mexico and his blue eyes looked genuinely hurt "You understand why I did it though, right? I was desperate. I needed help; I couldn't win a war on my own." Mexico wordlessly nodded "You were vulnerable, and France took advantage of you. You were the victim Alfred, and I'm not going to hold that against you. I expect you to do me the same courtesy when I tell you about my own dealings with France." The American nodded in agreement and changed the subject "I owe you a story about why I chose to write to you. The short answer is that I was desperate, losing the war, and horribly worried that I was going to be put to death for treason and I everyone I cared about would hate me."  
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The winter was bitterly cold at Valley Forge, so cold that America was beginning to wonder if he still had toes. He could no longer feel his toes, even though he was wearing all the socks he owned. The icy wind seemed to cut right through any clothing, no matter how thick they were. America could have stayed inside, but he felt it was better to walk around the camp and check on the men. They were restless, as was to be expected, but at least they were in good spirits. That was more than Alfred could say about himself. He was in a dismally bad mood. He was losing the war and he knew it, the last few battles had been humiliating. No doubt, Arthur was sitting somewhere warm and opulent with a cup of tea talking about how he would soon win the war and dole out the proper punishment. It was absolutely infuriating to think about. If America lost, then Arthur would just be validated in his god damn superior attitude. What worried Alfred the most was what the punishment would be if he lost. Treason was punishable by death, but for countries this sort of rebellion was pretty much unprecedented. He had no idea how he would be punished if he lost, but execution was not out of the realm of possibility.

The thought of it tormented Alfred to the point that he had been thinking about it any time he got free time. The cold was a good distraction; the men were a good uplifting distraction. For this reason, he continued to walk around and observe the men. At one point, he stopped at a fire surrounded by a group of young men. There was an open spot next to on boy, who looked to be about 18 years old, who was scribbling on a piece of paper. America sat down next to the boy and looked over at him, interested in what he was writing so intensely.

America asked, being careful to not be intrusive, "What are you writing?" The boy looked up and smiled pleasantly, although it was quite obvious that his teeth were chattering, and replied "I'm writing to my fiancé. I want her to know I'm alright. The last scrimmage, I saw my best friend take a bullet from one of those damn redcoats. He bled out right there on the ground. It got me thinking that I can't forget to treasure the people I still have." The boy had a slight accent that made it quite clear that he was from Virginia.

The accent reminded America of his sister, who was staying in the South and organizing support movements among the civilians. But, her being so far away made America feel even more alone. He felt like he was standing against England almost all by himself. The words also weren't uplifting; they reminded America that he had screwed up his own relationships with the people he loved. What he had before the rebellion with England wasn't love, or at least it didn't feel like it. The whole relationship had been all awkward moments and England's dominance. But it had been clear that England at least cared.

America didn't have anything that qualified as romance. Physically, he was 18 and all the other young men his age were either engaged or already married. Alfred couldn't help but feel like a failure when it came to romance. The only person he truly felt something for was Mexico and the way they had parted last time was hardly hopeful. Thinking back on it was still painful. America knew he had said the stupidest thing possible. He had basically called Mexico a whore and never gotten a chance to apologize.

He was able to suppress the whole flood of emotions enough to respond "You're lucky you have someone at home who is waiting for you." The boy responded with slight confusion "Don't you? You're not plain. I'm sure you have a girl back home." America smiled sadly, not entirely sure what the right response was. He decided on something similar to the truth "I have someone I love, but we argued the last time we saw each other. It ended badly and I doubt there is any way to fix it." The Virginian boy said, somewhat forcefully considering his voice was shaking slightly because he was shivering, "You need to write her. No one can stay mad forever. It might not work, but you need to give yourself a chance make a mends." America nodded.

In theory, that was good advice, but the problem was getting a letter to Mexico. The Aztec boy was most likely either at his own home or in Spain. Either way, he would be under Spain's watchful eye. Spain had made it quite clear that he did not want America making any contact with Mexico. If America was going to get a letter of apology to Alejandro, he was going to need a secret way to do it. He turned back to the boy and said "I will try. Thank you for the advice."

He stood up and walked away from the fire. As soon as he got outside the immediate range of the fire, the cold descended into his bones again. America jammed his heavily gloved hands back into his pockets in an attempt to keep the feeling in his fingers. Inside his head, he started thinking out the words of the letter he was going to write. It didn't matter if Mexico actually ever read the letter, America just needed to get the emotions out. In truth, Mexico was one of the topics that hardly left America's troubled mind. He wanted to tell Mexico how much he felt for him, but considering how well that had gone last time, he was hesitant to do so. But, now everything seemed to come into perspective. If he lost the war, he might die, and he wasn't willing to die without telling Mexico about his feelings. On the slight chance that he did win, he could deal with Mexico's coldness then.

He quickly walked back to the officer's quarters, where he kept his sparse personal belongings and his clothing. Once inside, a wave of warmth hit him. He quickly closed the wooden door behind him in an attempt keep the warm air inside. The gap under the door allowed cold wind to whip under the door and chill America's toes and feet. He hurriedly walked to his own small room and closed another door in an attempt to insulate against the cold. He had a fireplace in his room, which heated the space about as well as it possibly could considering the frigidness of the winter.

He walked over to a small desk in the corner. He quickly lit a small candle to provide extra light. He took out parchment, a quill and ink and laid them out in preparation to write. He dipped the quill in the ink and then froze with the tip of the quill above the parchment. He didn't know how to start. Experimentally he wrote "Dear Alejandro," This wasn't right, the "dear" seem presumptuous of him. He crossed it all out and started again with just "Alejandro, I know you have no reason to talk to me. However, I wish to apologize for my past comments." Now he felt that the wording was not his own. He dare not be more casual, for fear of coming across as figured there was no turning back now, and he continued to write, letting the tone of the letter get more casual as he continued.

The letter ended up being a couple pages long, it rambled at points, but America felt he had covered all the important parts. The handwriting was not neat and at points there were ink splatters in the margins where he had written too quickly. Once he was done writing, he folded up the letter and sealed it with a small glob of wax. It was done, against his better judgment. Now, he need only get it to Mexico, which was going to be almost impossible. He placed the letter in an inner pocket of his coat. It was then that America heard a knock on the door.

He stood up and opened the door to the sight of George Washington standing at the door. In typical military style, the man said "Alfred, France is here and he wishes to speak to you." America felt his heart sink. He hadn't seen France since he had sought an alliance and that experience had been so agonizingly shameful. He forced himself to nod stiffly "I'll go talk to him." Washington said coldly "Don't do anything stupid, Alfred. This alliance is important to us." America stopped himself from saying I've done more than you know for this alliance. Instead, he just responded "Yes, sir." The other man nodded curtly and stepped out of the way.

He found France standing by the fireside in the largest room of the building. He was dressed rather fantastically in a white and sky blue outfit that was decorated with lavish embroidery and feathers. America got the distinct feeling that he was a prairie chicken standing next to a peacock. France was the first to speak "My dear Alfred, you look very tired." He wasn't wrong, America wasn't sleeping well. He had a reoccurring nightmare involving walking in on Mexico and Spain. This nightmare regularly traded place with another nightmare that was him on his knees, with his hands bound behind his back, facing England, who had just executed the last of the rebellion.

He said in response to France's statement "I haven't slept in a few weeks. The stress of war, you know." France smirked "Maybe a little company will help you sleep at night." The Frenchman stepped forward and ran his hand lightly over America's cheek. America stepped back at once. France scoffed "You still act like such a virgin. We've already done this once." America didn't feel comfortable with France touching him, even though he had already given himself to France physically. That had been a necessary business deal and he had no desire to repeat the experience. If he was going to allow someone to have that kind of physical intimacy with him again, he wanted a deep passionate emotional connection first.

America shook his head slightly "I already paid my price for this alliance. You have yet to deliver on your end. So, the question is: What are you doing here?" France seemed rather unperturbed by America's sudden change of topic. He answered "I have been arming you, Alfred. Of course, you are already aware of that. Do not think I haven't been helping you. I will provide you with soldiers and ships, but you need to be patient." America knew he was being slightly unfair to France, the European country had been helping with the revolution thus far, but it wasn't enough. He could hardly afford to wait while France provided whatever aid he felt like. He responded, somewhat angrily "It's easy for you to tell me to be patient. I'm losing this war while you wait to send real aid. I have lost battle after battle. I hardly have enough supplies to clothe all my men, let alone keep them all fed. So, there better be a good reason why you're here."

France sighed, as though he found this whole thing rather irritating, "Alfred, a couple of losses does not mean there is no hope for the revolution. Look around you, the revolutionary spirit is as strong as it has ever been. As to why I am here, I have brought you someone very important. I talked to Prussia about you revolution, and he agreed to lend you one of his generals. I was going to introduce you to him, but he wanted to survey the encampment. I expect you'll meet him in a couple hours or so." America somewhat failed to see the importance of this "You brought me one man? I hardly see how that's going to help." France sighed again, apparently realizing that he was going to have to explain everything to America, and put his hand on America's shoulder, which was a strangely paternal gesture, "My dear boy, Prussian military discipline is the best in Europe. You don't lack in spirit, you lack the discipline to turn your fervor into victory. A winter of intensive training with a Prussian as your drill sergeant will fix that problem and you will be able to start winning against Arthur again."

The American immediately took a step backwards so as to get France's hand off of him. He knew he should thank France, but he felt that this sort of help was owed to him after what he had given France. He changed the subject again "So, now what? Are you going to stay here? Or are you going back to Europe?" France smirked "Do you want me here, Alfred? Did you miss me? I had planned to go back to Europe and try to convince Spain to aid your revolution." The mention of Spain made America immediately angrier. He didn't want or need help from that Imperialist bastard, no matter how desperate he was. On top of that, Spain hated him because of how close he had gotten to Mexico. He responded to France with a slight laugh "You won't get anything from Spain. He hates me. Don't bother with him; I don't need help from him." France responded "I can be very persuasive, especially when it comes to my friends. Honestly Alfred, you need help from anyone who is willing to give it to you."

America suddenly thought of the letter that was in his pocket, right next to his heart. He said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible, "If you're going to Spain, then I have a favor I would like to ask." France raised his eyebrows "Oh, and what would that be?" With shaking hands, America pulled the letter out of his pocket "If you see Mexico, give this to him." France looked more than a little surprised "Mexico? You mean Spain's Aztec boy?" The American nodded "Yes. He's about my height, absolutely gorgeous. Black hair, golden eyes. If you meet him, you'll know." France took the letter, although he still looked confused "Why would you be writing to Spain's favorite colony?" America said "Please just do this for me; it will put my mind at ease. My reasons are my own." France gave him a knowing look, as though he already knew the contents of the letter, but he refrained from saying anything about it. He simply said "Alright, if I happen to meet him, then I will give him your letter."


	28. Chapter 28

"That was a fateful decision." Mexico intoned with a touch of scorn. America responded "It sure was, if I hadn't written that letter, then I would never have gotten you to forgive me for my stupid comments." Mexico scoffed "Actually, I was referring to me, not you. If you never gave France that letter, he wouldn't have had an excuse to get me on my own." The other asked with some trepidation, "Are you going to make me regret my decision to write to you?" Mexico sighed before saying "Al, I know you are going to be jealous, so I'll head you off at the pass-"

America laughed, which interrupted what Mexico was saying. The American snorted, which Mexico found very irritating, "You do realize how ironic it is that you just used the classic Western movie cliché, right?" Mexico rolled his eyes "I am aware of that, Alfred. I'm just as much Old West as you are. But the point is, that you are going to have to put up with my flirtations with France. So, brace yourself." America grunted, "I'm not going to enjoy this part of the story." Mexico nodded one more time "You're right about that. I don't think you are going to enjoy this. It will be nice for you to know that while you were freezing at Valley Forge, it was unseasonably warm in Spain."  
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Mexico stretched his neck back slightly, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his skin. He was lounging on a soft couch on the room that was usually Spain's office. He had been able to convince Spain to take time off work because this room had the biggest windows in the house and was the best for enjoying the warmth. "It's your turn." Mexico opened his eyes and looked across the chessboard at Spain, who was looking at him expectantly. But there was also another emotion behind his eyes that was very familiar.

Because of the heat, Mexico was wearing a very thin shirt that left very little about his chest to the imagination. He also had the sleeves rolled up, which exposed his muscular arms. It was pretty clear why Spain was having trouble concentrating on the chess game. This whole thing had been his idea. He had insisted that if Mexico was going to rob him of valuable work time, they might as well spend the time together. The Aztec boy looked down at the chessboard, searching for his next move. He could clearly see a move that would win him the game relatively quickly. But, to use it would reveal his understanding of strategy to Spain and that could prove to be a huge tactical mistake. Instead he opted for a move that wouldn't lead to his loss, but most certainly wouldn't help him win.

Spain wasn't paying any attention to the game; rather, he was watching his colony's face intently. Once Mexico had made his move, Spain said "It's been such a long time since we have been here like this, not talking politics. It makes me feel so human, like I don't have to worry about trying to rule an empire, just for a little while." Mexico smiled back, fully recognizing that any response he could make would be a lie "I feel the same way. We haven't been like this since I was a child, when you used to tutor me." Spain responded as he made a completely pointless move with a pawn "But this is different. Doesn't it bother you? How hot it is?" He put the stress on the word "hot" so that it conveyed a double meaning. He could be talking about the weather, but he could also be referring to the unresolved sexual tension in the air between them.

Mexico chose to treat it as a commentary on the weather and responded, while making an equally pointless move "I think it's nice to have it be so warm so late in the year." Spain laughed, "Sometimes I forget your true nature." Mexico's heart stopped for half a second. He at once thought that Spain was referring to his Aztec blood. But the European country continued to talk "Deep in your heart, you are a tropical country and it shows through sometimes. I suppose you can't help but love the heat."

The polite banter would have continued, but a mortal came walking into the room very quickly at that moment. The newcomer said in a hurried voice "Sir, France has arrived rather suddenly and he demands to speak with you." Mexico cast his colonizer a questioning look. He had never met France before, but he did know that Spain liked to keep France far away, which was strange considering that they were friends. It was also common knowledge that France was helping America with his revolution, and that didn't seem to sit well with Spain. So, it was pretty predictable that after returning Mexico's confused look, the Spaniard said, "Tell him to go away. I'm busy. If he wants to talk to me, he can do it at a time of my choosing." The man nodded, which meant that he understood the message he was supposed to pass on, and then left with as much haste as he had arrived with.

Spain looked back at Mexico and commented "I have no idea what Francis wants. I have made it clear that unless he needs my help in a war he's fighting, I do not want to talk to him." The other nodded, showing that he understood. The doors at the other end of the room opened again. From the look on Spain's face that the person who entered now was not the mortal.

France said brazenly as he entered the room "I am not going to be brushed off, Antonio. Especially with such a trite excuse." Mexico turned around to face France, mostly out of curiosity. The Frenchman stopped dead in his tracks for half a second with his eyes fixed on Mexico's face. The he returned his eyes to Spain and said, "Oh, I see. We should all be very fortunate to be so very busy." The familiar feeling of being undressed by someone else's eyes returned, Mexico knew that France was sizing him up and he liked what he saw.

Spain also didn't fail to notice, he spoke to get France's attention again "As you can see, I am in the middle of something." He made a sweeping gesture to indicate that he meant the chess game, although his tone implied more. Mexico threw France a smirk and then turned back to the chess game. He moved his queen decisively, creating a checkmate. Spain looked at it, completely shocked. The Aztec boy added a stinging comment "Now you two have all the time in the world to talk." As he stood up, Spain did the same. The Spaniard took a step forward and very deliberately kissed Mexico on the cheek. It was a very possessive gesture to show France that Spain claimed his colony in all the ways he could. Mexico turned to leave and caught the look in France's eyes. It jealousy, pure jealousy. He didn't stop walking; he simply left Spain and France alone to talk. On his way out, Mexico left the door slightly open so he could hear the conversation but give the Europeans the impression that they were alone.

He heard France's voice first "I assume that was your Aztec boy: New Spain. He's beautiful, I don't see why you haven't introduced us before." Mexico was less than pleased about being known as "Spain's boy", but he knew it was imperative that he remain as quite as possible to hear the whole conversation. He needed to know the exact nature of the relationship between France and Spain, so he could effectively disrupt it. Spain responded, "I don't like the way your eyes wander. Alejandro is mine; I hope that is clear to you. I will not have you looking at him like he is some common whore." France laughed "You are selfish, keeping all of that to yourself. Is he good in bed? I'll bet he's absolutely wild in bed." Spain's response was immediate and terse "I'm not going to tell you that."

Mexico couldn't help but smirk, the reason Spain wasn't going to talk about it was because there wasn't anything to talk about. This banter revealed that the relationship between the two of them had some cracks. France continued to talk "He's smart too from the looks of it. Quite a catch." Mexico could tell from the tone of the response that Spain wanted the conversation to be over as soon as possible "Did you come here just to talk about my sex life? What is so urgent that you have to come barging in here?" This was the other part of the conversation that Mexico was looking forward to hearing.

France's tone changed when he answered, "I have just gotten back from the colonies. I'm here to ask you to aid Alfred in his revolution." Spain scoffed "Why, in the name of Almighty god, do you think I would help that insolent brat?" France seemed to have a prepared sales pitch "You may not like Alfred, but if he wins this war, imagine how that will wound Arthur's inflated pride. By helping Alfred break away, you will be able to pay Arthur back in kind for his attacks on your colonies. Gilbert and I have already given the 13 colonies aid, why shouldn't you? We're a trio, we always have been." Spain instantly had a rebuttal "That may be true, but if he wins, revolution will spread like a plague. The 13 colonies are close to New Spain. I will not risk this revolutionary fever spreading to him. I will not risk my relationship with Alejandro for any revenge." Mexico couldn't help but feel a little touched. It was so easy to forget that deep down inside, Spain cared, even if it was just for the promise of sex.

The Frenchman laughed again "After seeing him, I can understand why you're so possessive of New Spain. I can promise you that the cultural differences will keep Alfred from influencing any of your colonies." Mexico did not need someone else to influence him; the seeds of revolution were already planted. Although, he agreed that he and Alfred were far too different for anything to happen between them. There was dead silence for a few moments, and then Spain spoke again "I will consider arming the boy, but that's it. And let me be clear, I'm not doing this because I like the boy; I'm doing it to hurt England. That's my decision, now get out of my house."

Mexico knew at once that he needed to look like he hadn't been listening in. He took a few steps backward and leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. France emerged from the room, initially looking back over his shoulder at Spain. Then he turned his head and caught sight of Mexico. The lusty gleam returned to France's eye "Well, hello there. Are you waiting for someone?" Mexico smirked and raised his eyebrow slightly "I was waiting for Antonio. But, if someone more interesting comes along, I might consider doing something else."

He was consciously flirting for one reason: The biggest division between Spain and France was that France was jealous of the relationship between Spain and Mexico. If he gave France the impression that he had a chance with him, then the friendship would be torn. Disrupting the friendship between Spain, France and Prussia would greatly help in weakening Spain. France picked up on the boy's flirtation and responded, "I would say that I'm more interesting than Tony. This may be forward of me, but is there somewhere you and me can speak one on one?"

This was moving faster than the Aztec boy was entirely comfortable with. He knew that France had a reputation, but he hadn't expecting him to be so forward. However, he recovered quickly "If that's what you want, of course I can find an empty room." The Frenchman nodded "Alfred told me a thing or two about you and I must say, I want to find out how much of it is true." Mexico had no idea what America possibly could have said that had France so intrigued, but if it was what he had said last time he and Mexico spoke, then Spain had already confirmed it. France was under the impression that Spain was sleeping with his favorite colony, but in this situation, that was an advantage.

Mexico pushed himself away from the wall and started walking "Follow me if you want to find out." It only took a few seconds for Mexico to find an empty room. Once inside, he let France set the pace of the conversation. The European didn't speak at once; instead he looked Mexico up and down. He finally spoke "You know, you and Alfred are the same age physically, but you are so different. I can tell from the way that you carry yourself that you know the taste of lust. There is something in you that is so intriguing." Mexico noticed that France took a small step towards him.

The Mexican decided he would play hard to get first "But you know, my body belongs to Antonio. The wild in me is his to tame." France smirked and took another small step forward "But does he satisfy your needs? We both know that Antonio approaches physical love like a bullfight, he doges and teases before he finally lunges and stabs and after that, it's over quickly. Good for a time or two, but over time, that gets tiring." Mexico found himself smirking again. If this was a bullfight, then Spain was still chasing him around the arena. But he didn't need to let France know that. He skeptically responded "And you think you could do better?" France was so close now that Mexico could see the different shades of blue in his eyes. The Frenchman responded, "There's a reason they call me the country of romance. I know how to do things that Antonio could hardly dream of." While he was speaking, France reached out and put his hand lightly on Mexico's cheek.

He reacted to the touch more dramatically than strictly necessary. Mexico let his eyes flutter closed for a second and then reopen and meet France's blue ones. France continued to talk "Your body is exquisite and I could use it so much better than Antonio ever could. If you let me touch you, you would never want anyone else again." Mexico didn't feel remotely aroused by any of this, but he pretended to be. He made his breathing get progressively shallower and shallower, like he was getting more turned on by every word France said. This was all an act, but he was playing it exceptionally well. However, he couldn't allow anything more to happen, if he did then there was a very real possibility that France would be satisfied and lose interest.

Mexico took a quick step backward, breaking the physical contact "Don't get the wrong idea. There is something about you that I like, but I am loyal to Antonio. Nothing can change that." France took the rejection surprisingly well. He smirked "Sure you are, just like Alfred was loyal to Arthur. Loyalties often change when the winds of fortune shift. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. I would love to give you a taste of something new." Mexico nodded curtly, effectively concealing the fact that this was going exactly the way he wanted it to.

He could place himself between Spain and France, and thus disrupt the friendship and not actually have to sleep with either of them. He need only keep them both enthralled. France turned to walk away. He took a few steps before stopping and turning back around "I nearly forgot." He fished in one of pockets and pulled out a letter, which he held out to Mexico. The other looked at for a second before asking, "What is this?" France responded "Alfred wanted me to give this to you. That boy is an incurable romantic." Mexico took the letter, although it was confusing. After what had happened between them last time he had seen America, there was no reason for there to be any correspondence between them at all. France couldn't resist getting in one more contact before leaving. He took the hand that wasn't holding the letter and kissed it lightly. The parting words were delivered with a smile that was supposed to be charming, but only managed to make Mexico's skin crawl, "Until we meet again, my dear."


	29. Chapter 29

Mexico could already tell what America was going to say, so he preemptively said "You call me a whore, Alfred, and I'll call you a hypocrite." America responded "I wasn't going to call you that. I just don't like the idea of Francis getting that close to you." Mexico fixed his eyes on the American, who had balled his hands into fists. It was obvious that he had been deeply bothered by the last part of the story. It was not unexpected considering his tendency towards jealousy. Mexico said curtly "Bullshit. I can see it in your eyes. You think I'm a slut. Even now, you're thinking less of me."

America let go of the sheets slowly "I don't get it, why you would tease him? If you wanted him to do your dirty work, why didn't you just let him have you and get it over with?" Mexico smirked in response "You don't understand men, you never have. A man will always lust the hardest after what he thinks he cannot have. I let Francis think he had a chance, but he couldn't have me. That way, I have him thinking about how he can steal me away, no matter the cost. That way, he would do what I wanted without him knowing that he was doing my dirty work."

America looked to be mulling this over "At least he gave you the letter, granted, he flirted with you shamelessly first. But the point is that he did it and you were able to forgive me, which was all I ever asked." Mexico nodded again "He did and I read it because I figured that I owed you that much."  
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He broke the wax with one swift stroke and spread out the letter on his desk. The handwriting was hardly legible and smeared so badly in places that whole words had disappeared. But all the same, Mexico read it. He figured it would be good entertainment at the very least. The letter started out pretty cordial, as if it was a simple apology. But as the letter progressed, a bleeding heart was revealed. It was messy and romantic, like someone had smeared their heart's blood on the page in a desperate bid to get understanding. The word "love" was written and crossed out more than once. It was appalling and incredibly touching, all at the same time.

They had met for such a short time; it was hard to believe that America could feel so strongly about him. Perhaps it was just am effect of the revolution; maybe all of America's emotions were more extreme now because of the extreme position he was in. All the same, the genuine emotion in the letter stirred something deep in Mexico's heart. It was strange, but he actually cared about America's wounded emotions. It wasn't like the superficial emotions he felt when Colombia left. It was more like a deep gnawing feeling in his gut. He was causing America unnecessary anguish in the middle of his time of need, and that might just be putting the American at risk. During a rebellion, the last thing he needed on his mind was his love life. If the letter was true, and America was not clever enough to lie so passionately, he was hardly sleeping because he dreamt of Mexico and agonized over their parting moments. The lack of sleep couldn't be good for America's fighting ability, and Mexico refused to be the reason the American boy lost the war. He would lose eventually, that was sure, but Mexico didn't want it on his heart that he destroyed America's chance at freedom.

He folded the letter up and placed it in an inside compartment within a drawer in his desk. This was damning evidence above all else, to keep it was to put himself at risk. The most sensible course of action would be to burn the letter, and thus destroy the evidence. But burning this kind of pure sentiment was to deny the feeling that it was based on and that was something he couldn't do. America had risked a great deal to get this letter to him, if Spain had discovered the letter, then America would now be fighting a war against two European powers. Mexico needed to put America's mind at ease and the only way to do that effectively was to write a response. But, that would entail being able to get a letter past Spain and to America.

That was even more risky than keeping a letter from America. If Spain were to discover that he had received a letter, all the blame could be placed on America and France. However, actually writing a response was a sign of commitment that could not be easily explained away. If he was going to find a way to send this after actually writing it, he needed a safe and secure way to get it to America. That would require a bit of work, which he was quite willing to do. First, he quickly scrawled out a response on a long piece of paper. He tried to keep the wording as clear and unemotional as possible, despite the distinct feeling of attachment he felt towards the American. He couldn't encourage America to feel anything towards him, that would undermine the point which was to put America's mind at ease enough to allow him a fighting chance at winning the war. He was not even going to respond to the declarations of love in the letter, to do so carried too much risk. That would swing America's emotional fog in the other direction. He would be love-struck and that would also compromise his chances. Once the letter was finished, he tucked it away inside another drawer.

He would not be able to send it until some maneuvering was done to find a way to transport the letter. He walked over to the window and glanced out. From the position of the sun, he judged it to be a couple minutes before the hour. He expected Philippines to return soon. She had a curfew so Mexico could check in on her daily activities and set a time for weapons training. Other than that, he let her have a fair amount of freedom. At the very least, it was more freedom than she had in the Americas. He walked back over to the desk and quickly wrote a series of letters.

Like clockwork, he heard a knock at the door on the hour. Mexico turned to see Philippines opening the door. She was dressed in clothing fit for riding, which meant that she had probably been exercising the horses. It was pretty much tradition that Mexico chided her whenever she showed up, so the first thing he said was "You better not have overworked my horse, girl." Philippines scoffed in response "You know I didn't even try riding him. Your horse is one crazy stallion; he doesn't let me near him." Mexico nodded. It was true that his horse had a wild heart, which was why Mexico worked so well with him.

But, he had more important things to talk to Philippines about. He turned to face the Asian girl and said "I have something I need you to do, Piri." He used her real name to convey the seriousness of the task he was about to assign. He picked up the stack of short letters and a list. Philippines took them from him without question and waited patiently for an explanation. Mexico, of course, gave her an explanation "I want you to give these letters to the specific couriers on the list. Make sure to give the right letter to the right person. Tell them that I need these delivered to Texas in Mexico City. Make it clear that other people also have the same letter."

Philippines looked confused "To what end? What do the letters say?" It was essential that she understood the reasoning, so he explained "Each letter is different, but only slightly. They explain to Texas that I want to open negotiations with different European countries on the topic of trade. I'm courting the countries that have shown interest in me, like Russia, Belgium, Germany, England and France. I don't really want to negotiate with any of them, but showing interest in trade goes directly against Spain's orders. If one of these letters finds its way to Spain, I'll know who I can't trust. Based on which letter Spain gets, I will know exactly who I need to get rid of." The girl nodded "I understand. I'll have it done by the end of the day." With that, she left the room, letters in hand. Once Mexico knew who he could trust, he would know who would safely deliver the response to America. It would take a couple days before he knew who would sell him out. Until then, he just had to wait.  
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America interrupted again "It's scary how smart you are sometimes, you know." Mexico couldn't resist making a jab at America "Those who don't have intelligence are often frightened by those that do." The blonde cocked his head to the side and, for a second, resembled a confused golden retriever "Are you calling me stupid?" Mexico rolled his eyes dramatically "That you even have to ask me that proves my point." The American let this remark pass over him without reacting. Instead, he continued "I mean, how many people would think of that method of testing? I certainly wouldn't have. It also seems that you got results very quickly. If I remember correctly, I got your letter at the beginning of the spring, just as I was leaving Valley Forge." Mexico leisurely walked over to the bed and sat down next to America before speaking again "As I expected, one letter found its way to Spain. That was actually less than I expected. As you can imagine, Antonio was pissed."  
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Mexico had no illusions when Spain showed up at his bedroom door one morning. He opened the door, saw Spain and immediately took a couple steps back. The European's green eyes were full of fire. They would have been frightening if Mexico hadn't been expecting it. Considering that Mexico had already prepared himself, he kept his calm as Spain took a few steps into the room. Mexico remained calm and said "Is there a problem, Tony?" He used Spain's real name to diffuse some of the anger.

Spain pulled a letter out of his pocket and threw it down on the bed "Explain." Mexico took note of the fact that his colonized was, yet again, giving one word orders. He must be angrier than expected. Mexico responded, keeping his eyes fixed on Spain's face "I was reaching out to expand my trade network." Spain looked down at his feet for a second, as if praying for patience, before looking back up and saying "With Belgium?" This detail was important; Mexico made a mental note to get rid of the man who gave the letter to Spain. He also noted how lucky it was that this was the letter that Spain got, considering that Belgium was one of the few European countries that Spain had good relations with. He capitalized on this fact "Better her than anyone else, considering that she isn't a competing empire. I thought you liked Belgium."

Spain took a couple step forwards, which Mexico matched, as he spoke "It doesn't matter who you want to trade with. You don't trade with anyone but me. Is that clear?" Mexico's foot hit the edge of the bed. There was still something vaguely frightening about this situation. But, Mexico was prepared to do just about anything to satisfy Spain. He said quietly "Si, I understand. This was a mistaken assumption on my part." Spain smirked, "I will forgive you if you do one thing for me." He took another small step forward and connected their lips. At this point, Mexico was used to Spain kissing him and he knew how much kissing back Spain needed to feel he wasn't being rebuffed.

While he was kissing his colony, Spain used his foot to unbalance Mexico's stance enough that they both fell backwards onto the bed with Spain on top. Spain pulled away for a second to breath. Mexico took a couple breathes and then attempted to speak. But before he could say anything, Spain said "If you try to deny me again, I swear to God I will rape you. I don't want to, but if I have to, I will. I can't stand watching you flaunt your body like you do knowing I haven't had it yet. The more defiant you are, the more I want you." He aggressively kissed Mexico's neck, which was exposed. He pulled away one more time to say, his voice rough with unrestrained lust, "So, what do you say? Are you going to give me your body, or am I going to have to take it as punishment for your deceit?"

Spain didn't seem to actually want a response. He snaked his hand under Mexico's shirt and found a nipple, which he aggressively grabbed. The Aztec boy immediately surrendered to the sensation. He had very little choice this time, there was nothing he could do or say to keep Spain from taking him. The best he could do was close his eyes and react. But Spain was not satisfied, he spoke again "Open your eyes, Alejandro. That's an order. When I finally have you, I want to see those beautiful golden eyes." Mexico found it exceptionally hard to force himself to open his eyes and look at Spain. Their eyes met and Spain smirked, he crooned "Good, very good." Then, he used one hand to pin Mexico's arm to the bed. He then proceeded to kiss the tattooed band. Just having the skin touched was enough to excite Mexico, but having it touched so softly and sensually was even more overwhelming. The younger couldn't stop himself from groaning in response. The Spaniard chuckled "Did you really think that after all these years; I wouldn't know exactly what turns you on?"

Quite suddenly, the door banged open. Spain released his colony at once in order to turn and look. Philippines had thrown the door open more drastically than usual without knocking. She said rather pointedly said "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were busy." She left as suddenly and loudly as she had entered. Spain stared after her for a couple moments before turning back to Mexico. His green eyes had lost their drive. He said, his eyes fixed on Mexico's chest "Ah well, the moment is gone. I may call on you later tonight to finish this." Spain stood up and turned to leave. He added "And if you ever try to break my trade monopoly again, I will do worse. I'll teach you the true meaning of sadism."

Mexico was still too out of breathe to respond, but he nodded emphatically. Spain left without another word. Mexico got a few minutes alone in which he sat up and attempted to straighten himself out. As he expected, Philippines stuck her head back in the door "Is he gone now?" The Aztec boy responded "He's gone, Piri, you can come back." She walked in silently and stood awkwardly by the door. Mexico gestured to her "Come over here and sit." She followed the order wordlessly.

He addressed her "I could kiss you right now, girl. You saved my ass, quite literally." She laughed, although she was quite visibly shaken "Considering where your mouth has been, I rather you didn't. I owe you my loyalty, it was the least I could do to protect you." He took another few deep breathes, prayed his legs would hold him and stood up. He walked over to the desk, opened the drawer he had hidden Alfred's letter in, and pulled out his own response. Philippines stood up while Mexico was getting the letter. She walked over to him and took the letter "Shall I give this to one of the couriers that didn't give a letter to Spain?" Mexico nodded "Tell them to give it to Alfred, and no one but Alfred. Oh and tell Texas to cancel all those negotiations. We don't need to take that risk." She nodded one more time and started to walk out. Mexico sighed and said "Girl, take the rest of the week off. You deserve it."


	30. Chapter 30

Mexico looked down at America's hand, which was holding onto his thigh possessively. America spoke, more to himself than to Mexico "That bastard. I swear I should hurt him for this." Mexico sighed, "This is the part where I remind you that all this happened centuries ago. I'm the only one who's allowed to hold grudges for hundreds of years." America moved his hand even farther up Mexico's thigh. He looked concerned "So, did he come back that night?" The other laughed and put his hand on America's "Of course not. I didn't see him again until the next day. As usual, he apologized for losing his temper, promised he would wait for my consent, and we continued the dance." America growled "Fucking pedophile. He took advantage of you." Mexico didn't have any love for Spain, but he still felt the need to defend him "He isn't a pedophile. I was a teen, at that time it was perfectly acceptable. Had I been consenting, there would have been nothing wrong with us sleeping together." The other looked down for a second, obviously not happy with being corrected. Then he changed the subject "Well, your work paid off. I got your letter."  
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America looked around to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything important. Packing up the winter camp had been quite a production, but the new found discipline had made it so the army was able to reform into marching condition very quickly. Alfred actually felt like he was the one holding up the progress. There was something that had not ceased to bother him, and that was Mexico. He had received weapons from Spain, which meant that France must have talked to Spain. But, as far as he could tell, France had failed to give his letter to Mexico. America knew he should have expected as much from France. He had probably seen Mexico and decided that he didn't need the American boy as competition. He turned around one more time and decided that he truly wasn't forgetting anything. He walked out of the stark building, which was now empty.

It was then that a man, not wearing the uniform of the colonial militia, walked up to him. In another second, the mortal had a gun to his head. The one holding the gun was a colonial solider, the very same Virginian that America had talked to about letters. The solider said "I recognize Spanish colors. What do you want? In 5 words or less." The unknown messenger glared at the Virginian before looking back at America "Mexico sends his regards." America's heart leapt into his throat, Mexico actually got the letter. Better yet, he actually read it. He addressed the solider "That's enough, Lee. Let him go." The man obeyed, although he looked like he didn't quite trust the Spanish man. Once the gun was lowered, the messenger produced a letter, which was neatly folded and sealed. He handed it to America, saying as he did so, "I was instructed to give this to you and only you. You can trust that Spain knows nothing of this letter, or yours." America took the letter silently and stared at it.

He expected it to vanish as soon as someone pinched him. At this point, it could be a rejection and he wouldn't care. Mexico had taken the time to put pen to paper and write to him, and that was enough for America. He waited until the other two men walked away. He finally broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter. The first few lines made America feel lightheaded. It read "I have already forgiven you. I forgave you long ago. Don't worry yourself over my situation when your own is so critical."

He was forgiven. Everything he had been hoping for came true. He read the rest of the letter as quickly as humanly possible. He skipped over the little words like "a" and "the" in an attempt to absorb the letter more quickly. It wasn't flowery or sentimental. The language was to the point and relatively brusque, it wasn't hard to imagine Mexico speaking the words in his usual fashion. But, the message couldn't be clearer: Mexico didn't hate him; rather he wished America the best of luck in winning the revolution. The last words were, even with the complete lack of sentiment, the sweetest things America had ever read "I will think of you Alfred, enough for the both of us. You need not think of me. You have a war to win, now go and win it."

After he finished reading the actual words, America found himself staring at the handwriting. It had a kind of elegance to it, but there was a restrained passion in the flourish at the end of each word. He ran his finger over the words; they left grooves in the paper where they had been written. America tried to imagine Mexico sitting down and writing this letter. In his imagination, Mexico was wearing a white undershirt and very tight black trousers. His black hair was held back in a ponytail. He also, for some reason had a smear of black ink across his cheek, which made him look amazingly sexy. America shook his head and the vision disappeared. The letter was still in his hand, much to his surprise. He had expected it to vanish.

Once the shock began to fade, America felt empowered. If he could get Mexico to write to him just through the force of his words, he could defeat England easily in battle. He folded the letter back up and put it in his pocket. He was going to hold onto this letter, most likely, until the day he died, which, considering the state of his army, wouldn't be any time soon. He looked up at the horizon, which seemed to have turned incredibly blue, and said, to no one in particular "I'm going to go win my freedom."  
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It had been a while since Spain and Mexico had their confrontation, and everything had returned to normal. Or at the very least, everything had returned to as normal as it had been before. It had been easier to spend more and more time with Puerto Rico. She was a soothing person to be around; she was uncomplicated and sweet. After all the drama and political scheming, Mexico was glad to have a little less complication. The only irksome thing was that Puerto Rico had started talking about wedding plans. Mexico didn't want to be married for many reasons, most prominent among them being that he didn't want to feel even guiltier about his infidelity. It was almost comforting to know that Spain was never going to actually let them be married. All the same, days spent with Catalina were days that Mexico barely saw Spain aside from the daily dinner, and even that had become awkwardly quiet.

It was a lovely morning in fall and Mexico could not stand being cooped up inside. Puerto Rico actually was the one to suggest they both go for a ride to enjoy the weather. It was a somewhat unspoken reason that they both wanted to get away from prying eyes. Colombia seemed to always walk in on them, and Mexico knew exactly why. Colombia was attempting to prevent any feeling of intimacy by making it feel like it was impossible to get a private moment. The time outside would give them solitude.

He met her in the front hall of the house. Her long hair was held back in a loose braid. She was dressed in a light dress, with a corset around her waist, in short, women's riding clothes. He was dressed relatively lightly as well, as was fit for a casual occasion. He walked up to her with a smile, "Good morning, Cat. You look beautiful." She blushed and looked down modestly. He walked forward a few more steps and put his hand softly under her chin and tilted it back up. Their eyes met and they both smiled at the same time. He smiled sweetly, an expression that was matched by Puerto Rico, and he said "You always look beautiful." She replied "You would say that. You see me through biased eyes." He could tell that this was false modesty, as was befitting a catholic girl, but he replied to it accordingly "I'm not blinded by love. Everyone can see how lovely you are. I'm just lucky you are mine to love." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek "You're sweet to me. Shall we go? I had one of the servants prepare a picnic for us." Mexico nodded and took her hand.

The horses were waiting outside, where they were already prepared. Philippines handed Mexico his reigns wordlessly. He could tell from her glare that she didn't approve of him spending this time with his fiancé. However, he ignored it. It was not her opinion that mattered in regard to his love life. He mounted his horse, which Philippines had miraculously been able to saddle. With a flick of the reigns, Mexico's stallion took off at full speed. Mexico greatly disliked riding slowly; it was like restraining the horse's natural potential. Puerto Rico kept up easily. It was not lady like, but she understood that she needed to keep up with her fiancé.

The horses eventually slowed down as they tired. With the speed they were riding, they reached an open clearing, surrounded on one side by trees. At this point they both stopped. Mexico dismounted first and walked over to his fiancé's horse. He helped her down by putting his hands on her waist and lifting her down. Once she was on the ground, she smiled up at him and said "You're such a gentleman, Alejandro." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips before saying "Only for you my love." She responded "Then I am a fortunate woman." She returned his kiss more passionately. For a couple moments, there was nothing but the feeling of her lips against his. When they finally broke apart, Mexico couldn't help but smile.

He wished life was really this simple. He profoundly wished he could tell Puerto Rico everything about his life, all the secrets he was keeping, but he couldn't because she would not understand his hate. In the moment, he was stuck between two feelings. He wanted this simplicity and sweetness, but the need for vengeance kept him from being able to give his whole heart to her. She spoke "We should unpack the things and then we can talk."

They set up the picnic under a tree so that they were protected from the sun. Although it was a nice day, the warm weather was a bit uncomfortable in direct sunlight. At first the conversation was light, mostly the gossip around the court. She mentioned lightly "I heard one of your couriers met a rather unfortunate end recently." Mexico knew exactly who she was talking about. He couldn't abide traitors within his own ranks, especially with so much at stake. He responded "It is sad, but some men should pick their bar fights more carefully." That was not strictly true, but it was close enough. The man had died in a bar, but Mexico had personally been there. It had not been a fight; it had simply been a knife between the ribs. Puerto Rico didn't see the incident as anything more than an unfortunate accident, which was the way it should be. From there, the conversation lapsed back into light discussion.

However, eventually Puerto Rico brought up something that seemed to be bothering her deeply "Alejandro, do you still love me?" He was understandably shocked "Of course I do, why would you ask me such a thing?" To emphasize the sincerity of his statement, Mexico put his hand softly on her cheek. Puerto Rico looked down for a second, as though looking for the right words to state her observation. She finally looked back at him and said, her voice relatively measured, "I feel that you are slipping away from me. When we first met, you looked at me with so much lust and passion that it was almost frightening. But now, I don't see any of it. It is like I have been replaced by some greater passion, I know not what. I fear that if I do not reach out to you soon, I will lose you." Mexico should have figured as much, Puerto Rico was seeing that he was not committed to the relationship. He couldn't tell her why though, because that would require telling her about his revolution.

He came up with a response that was somewhat close to the truth, "Cat, I love you; I always have and always will. Partially, I have learned to temper my passions because I knew it scared you. I have also been distracted by recent events in the Americas. The revolution in the English colonies is close to my Northern border." She seemed to be studying his eyes to see if the words were genuine, or perhaps she was looking for some spark of passion. Whatever she seemed to see in his eyes comforted her. She matched his hand on her cheek by putting her hand on his, "Don't shut me out. Let me be a balm for your worry. I will do anything to make you happy." She took his hand from her cheek and moved it to her thigh, which was covered in only light cloth. She repeated, her dark brown eyes looking directly into his, "Anything at all that would make you happy." She moved his hand farther up her thigh.

Mexico was quick to stop that "You do not need to use your body to make me happy." He pulled his hand away, "Sin is not the answer. We are not yet married, to consummate before marriage is a sin." She sighed and took a small sip of wine "We are going to be married, so does the time matter? Our engagement is never going to be annulled. If this will rekindle your passion for me, I will do it." Mexico was not as against sinning as he was saying, his affair with Brazil proved that. But, although he did feel lust towards Puerto Rico, he wanted her to be pure. She was one of the few truly innocent people in his life, and he didn't want to corrupt that innocence. He also knew that when the revolution came, their engagement would be broken. If she was not a virgin at that time, then she would eternally hate him for his deceit. He responded again "You don't need to, Cat. All I need you to do is be there for me when I am in need of a sympathetic ear." She nodded and looked slightly relieved. Mexico touched her cheek again and ran his hand lightly down her face and neck. He leaned in again and kissed her lips again. His hands were more brazen now to show his passion. He let them roam over her chest. She pulled herself closer, using one of her hands around his neck. They were dangerously close to both losing control, but it didn't matter.

The moment was broken by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. Mexico broke the kiss to turn around. A mortal messenger was standing behind him, looking at the two of them with a mix a fascination and envy. Mexico addressed him "I did specifically state that I did not want to be disturbed today. This better be very important." The man spoke "Spain has summoned you. He said you must return at once. It is urgent." The Aztec boy swore under his breathe, but he knew that he needed to heed the order. He looked at Puerto Rico and said "I'm sorry; I do not want to abandon you." She responded "You have your duties, I can wait for you." Mexico nodded and stood up.  
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The ride back was short, but it gave him time to think about things. He had no idea what could be so urgent, but summons from Spain were very rarely good. He reached the house and quickly found Spain in one of the larger rooms with Peru, Colombia, Bolivia, Chile, and Venezuela, the last of whom had come to Spain at the same time Mexico had. It must be a truly important matter if all of the big colonies were here to talk about it. Spain seemed exceptionally agitated; he was pacing rapidly. Once he had noticed Mexico's presence, he said with a sweeping gesture "Good, everyone is here. You should all sit; I have a lot to say."

Venezuela sat in the only available armchair. Predictably, Bolivia, Chile, and Peru all sat together on the biggest available couch. This left Mexico to sit with Colombia on a rather small couch. The other glanced suggestively at Mexico, who tried his best to ignore how provocative Colombia was being. Spain didn't pay attention to the seating arrangements, which was lucky. Instead, he started speaking at once "I have received a letter from France. The 13 colonies have won the war for independence. He is now one country and he is calling himself the United States of America." Everyone, with the exception of Chile, started talking at once, mostly to each other. Colombia turned to Mexico and said simply "So it is possible." The Aztec boy responded "Not for anyone else, now Europe is on high alert."

Spain quickly took control of the conversation, "Quiet, everyone. I am aware of how shocking this is. No one thought an upstart like him would ever be able to win. But I need to stress to you all that I am not England. We need to stand strong as an empire, not fracture. I will not tolerate revolution in my empire." Mexico understood why Spain was resorting to bluster; revolution could spread now that it was proven to work. Spain, of all people, was scared of losing his empire. It was the only thing that had ever brought him prestige, and he couldn't lose that. Spain continued to talk, "You are all strictly forbidden from communicating with the United States in any way. I will not have him corrupting any of you. If he attempts contact, I want to know at once." He finally stopped pacing and looked directly at Mexico, "Alejandro, I want you to be especially cautious. Alfred has shown interest in you." Colombia scoffed "Well that figures. Alejandro does seem to attract eyes." Mexico glanced over at him. Colombia looked completely and utterly jealous. Spain concluded "That is all. Remember that revolution is the worst kind of sin, and god will not save your soul after I break your body. You are all mine, and that is not going to change, not now or ever at any point in the future."


	31. Chapter 31

America cut in yet again "Well you can tell Enrique that he was right to be jealous." Mexico smirked "Funny, but I think that he figured that much out. I'm not keeping our relationship a secret from him or anybody else." The blonde scoffed "That's not my point. He was jealous of me when he hardly had anything to do with each other. I can only imagine what he feels like now." Mexico didn't seem uncomfortable with the topic, but all the same, he changed the course of the discussion, "It doesn't matter what he feels about you. Anyway, Enrique isn't vitally important to the story yet. He was a distraction."

The blonde looked down at his own hand, which was still on Mexico's thigh. He seemed to be thinking back on his own experiences for a moment before saying "It is ironic that France assured Spain that the revolution would not spread, considering that he soon had a revolution on his hands. I can imagine that the French revolution freaked Spain out." Mexico replied "It was certainly quite the topic of conversation for a while. We were all wondering what it meant for us. I was probably the only one who could guess how it was affecting Spain."  
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Peru laid another card from the stack down on the table as he spoke "Can you imagine it? The French peasants cut off their king's head?" Mexico had been hearing this speculation for months now, ever since King Louis XVI had been killed, every colony secretly cherished that moment because it proved something very fundamental to rebellion: That monarchs could be destroyed. Perhaps that was why all of them kept thinking back on it. Venezuela was the first one to respond "That's old news, last I heard, they'd executed Robespierre as well. It's pure savagery." It was unorthodox that Venezuela was the only woman in a room full of men, but in this case it was allowed simply because Venezuela had so much status within the empire.

Peru, Bolivia, Mexico and Venezuela were playing cards in a smaller sitting room, far away from Spain's ears. Colombia had decided not to join them once he heard that Mexico would be there. Chile had opted to avoid the gossip and was instead reading a book silently in another part of the room. He was still listening in, but not being required to give any opinion on the matter. All of the colonies were careful of what they said, after Spain's speech about revolution, they all feared that they were under suspicion and might be at risk for being occupied by the sizable Spanish armies.

Mexico made the next comment using a carefully sarcastic tone, "Ironic, then, isn't it? That such brutality should take place in a European country, when they claim we are the ones born of savagery." Nearly everyone around the table either laughed or smirked, except for Peru, who seemed to be predisposed to disagree, "Watch what you say, Mexica, you may have Antonio's ear, but that does not mean you can say anything. Don't you dare call Europeans hypocrites." Mexico smirked and threw down a card from his hand, "Strangely, you don't frighten me." The other looked down at the card for a second and then back up at Mexico, "Your arrogance will be your undoing."

Bolivia cut in, "Do you two ever stop fighting? The point of the matter is that France's revolution has upset all of Europe." All of them were well aware of the fact that all of Europe was worried, this had not been predicted, and it had turned out more violent than the revolution in the 13 colonies. Mexico had his own reasons to be worried. France knew about his correspondence with America, and as long as France was stable, there was a chance of the secret being revealed to Spain. Thankfully, no one had seen France since the revolution had started. All Mexico could do was hope that it stayed that way. Too much was at stake to let a slip on France's part ruin everything.

The topic of conversation didn't change, Venezuela was speaking now, "Unless this spills into Spain, which it won't, the French revolution doesn't mean that anything will change for us." It was quickly becoming clear that everyone was more interested in keeping tabs on each other via the conversation than they were in the card game. No one was winning; they were just shuffling the cards around the table. Mexico couldn't see any trace of rebellion in anyone else, which was just as well.

The game was interrupted by a voice that they all knew very well, "It's good to see that my colonies are getting along." Mexico was the one with his back to the door, and was consequently the one who had to turn around to look at Spain, who had just walked in. The Spaniard, rather unsurprisingly, was looking directly at Mexico. Peru made a desperate attempt to shift Spain's focus, "Holla, Antonio, to what do we owe the pleasure?" It was completely unsuccessful, Spain's attention was still fixed on Mexico, "I hate to interrupt, but I have rather pressing matters to discuss with Alejandro." The feeling of resentment that went around the table was palatable. Mexico didn't feel at all relieved; Spain's "pressing matter" was not likely to be a good thing. Peru shot a glare at Mexico before saying "Yes, don't you always? I suppose you want us to leave." The Spaniard wordlessly nodded.

The room cleared out quickly, which left Mexico alone with his colonizer. Spain sat at the newly vacated seat next to Mexico. The latter put down his cards face up, as he now saw that the game was over. Spain looked at them, "I should not have interrupted, you had a winning hand." The Aztec boy smirked and very deliberately uncrossed his legs. He meant to tempt Spain, because that kept him somewhat under control. He responded to Spain's comment, "Yes, but they didn't know that. What do you want to talk to me about, Tony?" Spain shifted the cards that Peru had left on the table, but he spoke deliberately, "I want to know why you refuse to dine with me at night. You have been pushing me away of late, and I want a reason."

The statement was true; Mexico had been guarding himself more to keep Spain from seeing the rebellion in his eyes. Times were volatile, and Spain would most likely be very vigilant, especially considering that Mexico had already been individually warned by Spain. He responded, trying to conceal his real reason, "I have told you, I have chosen to spend my dinnertimes with my fiancé." The Spaniard looked unconvinced, "That's not the real reason, and we both know it. I want the real reason, and I want it now." Mexico leaned forward, so he was closer to Spain, and said pointedly "I didn't want to force you to dine with someone you didn't trust. You think I am unduly influenced by the United States, and for that reason, you do not trust me." Spain understood at once and sighed, "I thought that might be the reason. You're mad at me for singling you out when I was speaking about revolution."

This was a test for Spain, how he reacted would indicate how suspicious he truly was. As of yet, he had not said anything revealing. The older man took a deep breathe, as though bracing himself, before saying, "Alejandro, I understand your scorn, but I could not help myself." He reached out and brushed his hand against his colonies face while he continued, "I have never been able to forget that Alfred touched you. The thought of losing you, to someone else or to revolution, is agony to me. I could hardly sleep, even when I knew that you were safe, but far away in the Americas." Mexico let himself lean forward farther, which meant that Spain's hand remained on his face. Spain seemed to be getting everything off his chest in the moment, he continued, "I need you by my side. I singled you out, because I worry most about you, not because I do not trust you, but because I would be lost without you. Losing you would destroy me. I think I would kill myself if you rebelled against me."

Mexico could hear the emotion that seized Spain's vocal cords, these were genuine. In that moment, it dawned upon him more fully than it ever had before: Spain was not faking any of his emotions. Somehow, over years of lies and boldfaced temptations, Mexico had managed to become precious to Spain, more precious than anything else. Nothing could be more to his advantage, the feelings made Spain weak. Mexico mirrored Spain's gesture and put his hand on the other's tan cheek as he spoke, "You know me better than anyone, Antonio. You know that I am not lying when I say that I am loyal to you and no one else. Can any of your other colonies make the same statement? So, you do not need to worry about me." Mexico added to himself You think you know me, Spanish bastard, but you are wrong. Spain seemed to swallow the lie, as he had swallowed every lie that preceded it.

The physical contact between them broke as the Spaniard leaned back. He changed the subject to the one that seemed to be on everyone's lips, "You can stop speculating about the French revolution. It is over; a man by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte has become the emperor of France and somehow managed to bring stability to France." Mexico asked the most logical question about Spain's statement, "And what does it mean to us? Will your relationship with France change?" Spain was much more comfortable with this subject and replied quickly, "Provided nothing unforeseen happens, me and France will continue to have our friendship. But Napoleon is a dangerously ambitious man, and he is at the head of one of Europe's strongest armies."

The Aztec boy responded, "Can he hurt us?" Spain nodded, albeit grudgingly, "If France decided to destroy me, he could. I am not as strong as I was, as you very well know. If he attacked, I would lose. I don't fear that, though, since Francis has no reason to want to hurt me." Mexico leaned back finally. He struggled to keep himself from smirking; it was all falling into place. Perhaps the flirtation with France would be worth it. Now a plan was forming, it would require a good deal of risk, but would bring the chance for independence that Mexico longed for so ardently. Spain had no idea that France could be given a reason to attack his old friend. Mexico now need only provide the proper motivation.  
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France opened his front door to find Mexico standing in front of him, wearing a thick black coat to hide his identity to an extent. France's blonde eyebrow arched while his mouth curled into a smirk "Well, well, this is a visit I didn't expect." The Frenchman stepped aside to let Mexico walk by him. Once he was inside, Mexico turned to look at France. He finally spoke, "I am here because the winds of fortune have shifted, as you said they would. I have had a change of heart, as it were." France smiled now, just as Mexico knew he would, "I suspected as much." The blonde took a step forward and softly let his lips touch Mexico's. It was not a passionate kiss like Spain's. It was a soft sweet kiss. But within it, Mexico could feel that France was holding back. The Frenchman spoke softly, "You don't stop me from touching you now, do you?" Mexico responded "Of course not, this is your house; I will follow your rules here." France, if possible, was worse than Spain at hiding his lust. He smirked again and then licked his lips, "I'll bet you will. Come, I think I will treat you to some wine."

With that, he started walking down the hall. Mexico followed, being careful to observe France's movements. Once they reached a sitting room, France poured two cups of wine. He handed one to Mexico. At this point, France started to speak, "I did not expect this, right after I went through the agony of revolution." The Mexican boy took a sip of the wine. It was excellent, although somewhat mellower than Spanish wine. He took a step closer to France as he spoke, using a voice that was carefully seductive, "You are like gold, passing through a flame. You were strengthened by the revolution, not weakened by it." France took a gulp of wine, a single drop rolled down his chin.

He replied to Mexico's comment, "Perhaps I am stronger than I was not that I have a strong leader, not a weak king. Do you have a taste for French wine?" Mexico knew he needed to woo France if he wanted his schemes to come to fruition. France was being maddeningly controlled. Mexico was going to force the matter, simply because he didn't have the time for romance. He took another step forward, so he was very close to France. He licked up the path the drop had taken on France's neck. He ended at France's jaw, where the goatee made continuing difficult. When he pulled away, Mexico said softly, "I could learn to like it."

France took a couple unsteady breathes. The Mexican knew from the way France's breathing had changed that he now had France right where he wanted him. The Frenchman didn't speak; instead, he grabbed Mexico around the waist. He leaned in close enough to whisper in the younger boy's ear, "I see, you aren't one for small talk. You are used to Antonio and his sudden attempts at seduction. I will show you what true physical love is like." France put his own glass of wine down to free his hand that was not on Mexico's waist. The newly freed hand went to Mexico's butt. The pressure on his backside was not hard and fast, like it was with Spain. It was softer, and somehow more alluring.

France's lips worked on leaving a trail of kisses up Mexico's neck. The touch of the lips was soft as a feather. The touch made the skin of his neck burn with a sweet kind of lust. The Aztec boy found himself panting. France first licked the very inside of Mexico's open lips, and then kissed him. The skill in the kiss was undeniable; France's soft lips easily manipulated the younger boy's lips. His tongue entwined with Mexico's tongue. The Aztec boy didn't hold back any vocalizations; he let small moans escape his throat. France released Mexico's waist to take the glass from the boy's hand and set it on the table. The Frenchman used his hands to start undressing the boy, starting with the coat, which fell to the floor.

Mexico was not actively doing much because he knew that France, like Spain, was an imperialist and loved the feeling of complete control over a lover. He had no intention of letting France go all the way, but enough temptation must be offered. France moved one hand under Mexico's shirt, where he lightly brushed his hand against a nipple. He did not know about the tattoos, or else he would have used those too. France broke away from the kiss several times, but always returned with the same ferocity. It was a strange mix of powerful passion and softness.

France finally made a move to put his hand on the front of Mexico's pants. This was the point the Mexican boy had been waiting for. He pretended to have a kind of moral epiphany. He stepped backwards quickly to break all contact with France. The Frenchman responded with the expected surprise, "Was that too much?" Mexico shook his head and took another step backwards, "It isn't you. I would do this if I had the liberty. But, I don't. Antonio will know that I let you have me, and he will punish me for it." France sighed, yet again holding his composure surprisingly well, "Antonio won't be able to tell you have been unfaithful, I assure you." Yet again, Mexico shook his head and feigned emotion, "He will see it in my eyes. I can't do this while I am under the control of the Spanish throne."

The word choice was deliberate; it was supposed to give France inspiration. It did just that, France repeated, "Ah yes, the Spanish throne. It could be mine, you know." Mexico couldn't hide his smirk this time, he strengthened his voice as he said, "Yes it could, if you threw your military strength against Spain. Antonio is weaker than he seems, it would be easy for you." France took a step forward, closing the space between them. He seized Mexico again and relentlessly kissed the copper skin of the younger boy's neck. He spoke as he did so, "I will destroy Antonio. Then I can do whatever I like with his colonies, can't I?" Mexico responded with a single breathy word "Si."  
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America said sharply, "Stop! Alejandro, if you fucked France, just tell me. Don't describe it to me in such obscene details." Mexico shifted his eyes to look directly at his lover, "That really depends on definitions. I obviously got pretty excited, because as we both know; France is very good with his mouth. So, I couldn't really leave in that state. He gave me what you Americans call a 'hand job'. I don't qualify that as sex. I won't describe that to you all the same." America looked far from comforted, as was to be expected. He bit back his retort though, because he knew that Mexico would call him a hypocrite. Instead, the American said, "I never knew you influenced France. I always just thought it was fate helping you." Mexico scoffed again, "You like to believe in fairy tales. A prudent strategist can make things appear to be coincidence, even when they are planned." The blonde man scoffed, "You're too clever, and it makes you dangerous." The other responded, "You knew that already. If I remember correctly, you like the danger in being my lover. As I planned, France invaded Spain, although, I was out of the country by the time that happened."  
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Mexico was asleep, but not soundly. It had been a few days since he had visited France. He was uneasy; he beginning to worry that France would not attack. His eyes were closed, but he couldn't sleep. He felt a soft touch on his face which woke him quickly. He let his eyes flutter open. He saw that Spain was sitting on the edge of the bed, softly stroking his colony on the cheek. Mexico had to restrain himself from reacting; finding Spain in his bed was not something he wanted. Spain noticed that the other was awake and spoke quickly, "Alejandro, I don't mean to unnerve you, but I don't have the time to wait for a more appropriate occasion." Mexico responded, still attempting to comprehend what was happening, "What's wrong, Antonio?"

He sat up so he was in a less vulnerable position. Spain was holding one candle, which lit up his eyes. Mexico could see worry in the flickering reflection in the green eyes. He suddenly had an idea as to what the problem was. Spain quickly confirmed his suspicions, "I have gotten very worrying news. The French army is marching west, towards our border, not east or North as I expected. France has issued me an ultimatum. I am going to send you away, so Francis can't touch you." Mexico knew it was dark enough that he could smirk without Spain seeing it. His plan was working perfectly. Spain continued to speak, his manner was rushed and somewhat clumsy, "I am sending you back to your home in the Americas. You will leave tonight. Take only what you really need. Take Philippines with you. I am also sending my other colonies back. When France gets here, I want to be alone."

The Aztec boy nodded and replied, "I understand. I will miss Madrid, and I will think of you." Spain looked desperate, but, all the same, he smiled, "I'll never forget the day I first brought you here. You were a willful child. I stole you away from a failing empire, and now I feel I might be doing the same thing again. But this time I am the one who is failing." The Spaniard affectionately put his hand on Mexico's leg, which was now draped over the edge of the bed. He seemed to be struggling to get the right words, "I love you, like a son, like a brother, and like a lover. All at the same time. I will bring you back as soon as possible."

Spain leaned forward, and was overcome by emotions. He wrapped his hand around Mexico's head and pulled the younger boy into a kiss. It was a clumsy kiss, full of emotion. Mexico reacted vigorously, kissing back as hard as he could. This was the last time he would need this trick. Once he was back in the Americas, Mexico could engineer the revolution. All the pieces were in place now. France would take the Spanish throne, and then even loyalist would come to the conclusion that it was time to break ties with Spain. Spain finally broke the kiss and said, "That will be the last kiss until I deal with France. I will taste your lips again, I am sure of it." The Mexican boy added in his own mind The next thing you will taste is my blade. With that, Spain stood up. He offered his hand to Mexico and helped the boy to a standing position.

Once Spain left, Mexico quickly gathered up clothing he would need, thankfully without Spain's watchful eyes. The most essential thing he grabbed was his sword, which he hid in a bundle of clothing. He woke Philippines and said to her simply, "Our time is at hand, Piri." She smiled back at him, "Your time and energies have been well spent then."

They both boarded the ship in the dead of the night. Mexico left with the knowledge that he would never return to this city or this country again.


	32. Chapter 32

Mexico was standing on deck, his dark hair flowing in the sea air. He was leaning forward on the side of the ship. It was then that he heard a voice he knew speaking behind him, "It's a lovely day for a little bit of treason, wouldn't you say, Mexica?" Mexico knew the speaker was Peru. However, the words were shocking, even coming from his rival. He responded carefully, "What, in the name of God, are you talking about? Have you finally lost your mind?" Peru scoffed in reply, "I am quite certain you are the one who has taken leave of their senses. I do know what you're doing."

Mexico turned around to face Peru, who was standing right behind him. The Incan boy was wearing a very smug smile. Mexico was quite certain the other boy didn't know as much as he seemed to. There was no way he wouldn't have given an indication before. He responded to bait Peru into saying what he knew, "What exactly am I doing, then?" Peru smirked and walked over to stand next to Mexico. He spoke again, "Did you enjoy your little talk with Francis?" The Aztec boy gasped. No one had known that he had gone to France, he had been sure of it. The only other time he had made contact with France was when the Frenchman had come to Spain's house. That must have been what Peru was talking about. All the same, no one had been around to witness that meeting either. Mexico knew that he could not possibly have been that careless.

He was silent for a few seconds while he attempted to come up with a response. Peru used the silence to interject again, "Chile saw you and told me. I thought it strange that you would have something to discuss with France. So, I looked at your financial records a little more carefully. It made an interesting read, as you can imagine. It's a neat trick, using money from the Philippines to cover up your embezzlement. You always were a clever chess player, but this is a game on a larger scale and you can't afford a mistake." Mexico understood now.

Chile! Damn him, always slinking around silently. It was no wonder that Mexico had failed to take account of him. Peru knew, and that would have been damaging had things not already been in motion. As it was, Mexico had a response, "That is interesting, I thought you had cut out your brother's tongue. So, now you know what has been working on my heart. What is it to me now? Surely you must realize that France's invasion changes everything. Were you planning to tear me down with the truth?" Peru laughed in response, "You are as you always have been, Mexica. You are more predisposed to see enemies than friends. Did you think you were the only one who has harbored hate for Antonio?"

Mexico laughed. Peru couldn't possibly know the burning hate that Mexico experienced. It was ever present and volatile. It stemmed from pain that remained from his mother's death. After a short laugh, he said "Don't deceive yourself. You have no idea what kind of hate I am feeling." To this, Peru responded with a glare. It was oddly forward coming from even him. For a second, Mexico remembered that Peru was also born of an empire with a strong warring tradition. The Peruvian man responded and his voice went suddenly cold, "He killed my mother too. We are both princes in our own rights, you being Aztec, I being Inca. We are heirs to the whole of what Spain dares to call his empire. We should take it back, and now you carefully planning has given us the chance."

Suddenly Mexico understood perfectly, "You are brazen. You think you can command and subjugate me like one of your brothers. There is no 'we'. There is you, and there is me." The other leaned back on the side of the ship. He seemed to be calculating, just as the Mexican boy was. His response needed to be exact, he knew the Aztec boy was proud, and thus would never easily agree to share his revolution with anyone. Peru's weapon would be pragmatism, "We are brothers. Not in blood, but in position. We should be co-conspirators in this. But if you want a good reason, I will tell you. You do not have the military strength to defeat Antonio on your own. Without other rebellions, you will fall. But if I and my brothers were to revolt at the same time, the Spanish forces would be spread thin. Between us and France, we will win." The Aztec boy responded with a smirk, although he understood that Peru had a point, "And if I refuse your offer of help? What then? Will you simply play the loyalist, since you have no proof of your disloyalty?" The response was exactly what he expected. Peru turned so that he was facing his one-time rival, "I would watch you burn. I may even laugh."

There was a sound of a blade being drawn. Peru suddenly went stiff. A crisp female voice spoke behind Peru, "Don't you dare threaten Alejandro. Shall I run him through, Mexico?" Philippines obviously had a long knife to Peru's back. The Peruvian, to his credit, kept his calm very well. His voice was measured when he said, "I see. She is more than a financial pawn. You have gained a rather beautiful ally." Mexico was very happy to watch his rival squirm. But, he didn't let it last very long.

He spoke to Philippines, "You may sheath your dagger, Piri. I am accepting the offer, on one condition. I want to be the first to rebel, you may follow shortly thereafter. The summation will create an unbeatable force. Antonio will have to bow. But know that he is mine to finish off. Understand?" Peru nodded as Philippines sheathed the knife. He responded to Mexico, "You will not regret this, Mexica. And when we are both free, we can become rivals again. In short, we can go back to hating each other." With one more witty smile, Peru walked away.

Once he was gone, Mexico was finally able to see Philippines, who was shorter than Peru, and had thus been obscured. She was dressed lightly, due to the fact that they were traveling. But Mexico couldn't help but notice that the little excitement had made her cheeks slightly rosier and her black eyes shine brighter. She looked almost beautiful with her thick black hair held in small braids and pulled back in a ponytail. How had he failed to notice before that she had grown a few years older while he had her as his ward? She looked more and more like a woman and less like a girl. But, he couldn't think of her in any sexual way; she was like a sister to him and that carried its own tenderness. She looked at him and spoke in her usual brisk manner, "Was that smart?"

Mexico knew perfectly well that she was talking about his deal with Peru. He had an answer based on his own thought process, "Peru is foolish. Had he been smart, he wouldn't have told me. He would have simply waited for me to rebel and followed my lead. But by asking for my aid, he acknowledged my supremacy. By doing that, he gives me sway over him." She nodded, but spoke differently, "You don't know what he will do, and it may not work in your favor." Mexico didn't regard Peru as a wild card. If the boy had been reckless, he would have revealed Mexico's treason much sooner. All the same, Mexico responded, "If he fails, he will still have been enough of a distraction to save me from the brunt of Antonio's wrath. Even if he is incompetent, he will still serve his purpose. A decoy is always useful, no matter whom the decoy might be." Philippines smiled in return, "You never fail to think everything through. What are we going to do when we get back to your home?"

Mexico turned to look out over the sea again. He was quite certain that land was a long way away. Still, the question was a good one. He replied to the Filipino's question, "I have already sent a letter to my brother, it tells him of all my intentions. He's going to find all of the secret treasons so when I get there, I will be able to feed the flames and bring the people to full rebellion. From there, I need only defeat Spain." Philippines turned to face the same way as Mexico, but laughed, "You say that like it's going to be easy."

She reached out and put her hand on Mexico's chin. The gentle touch turned Mexico's head so that he was looking directly at Philippines. Despite how good her nature seemed, she looked suddenly serious. She spoke directly, "Alejandro, you do know that I am your greatest ally and always will be, don't you? I will not be cast aside for anyone. So, if I see you growing unduly close to Peru, I will personally slit his throat." Mexico couldn't help but be impressed. The threat was delivered without a glimmer of true rage. It was more than he originally would have been able to do. He responded, but did not return the touch, "You have done well, Piri. I believed that threat. But you can be sure that I love you as a brother loves a sister and I will not cast you away, you can be sure of it."  
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America had spent a long time trying to figure out things in Philadelphia. The Articles of Confederation had failed spectacularly and working out a new Constitution had been a mess. He now believed that the right government was in power. He believed that after the leadership he had shown in the war, George Washington deserved the presidency. But, with all the political ruckus, America had found himself ignoring his sister. He had not spoken with her face to face since the revolution. He even grudgingly found himself missing the way she usually glared at him. For that reason, he was traveling to Richmond to visit her. He imagined she would be very lonely. Once he got to the house, he dismounted quickly. He got to the door, which was opened by a slave girl who looked down at America's feet shyly. She spoke in quiet, strangely deep voice, "I will tell your sister that you are here." He didn't see a good reason why, unless she was taking a bath or changing her clothes, there was nothing she could be doing that he would care about interrupting. He told the girl, "You don't need to do that." With that, he walked in. When he finally got close to the finding her, he heard a voice added to his sister's own. He nearly stopped in his tracks. No one had any reason to be here, mortal or otherwise. He decided quickly that he needed to act to protect his sister, who might have a man in her presence without his knowledge. He went running into one of the large sitting rooms in the back.

Texas was in the middle of telling a story, "So, then I said-" Both Annabelle and Texas looked up, obviously startled. America's sister looked especially beautiful, her hair and dress were very nice. It was odd that she should dress so finely for a Spanish boy. The blonde coldly eyed her brother and said, "Good Afternoon, Alfred. Is there a reason you did not knock? Or for that matter, enter quietly like a normal human being?"

Between gasping for breath and staring, completely dumbfounded, at Texas, he couldn't come up with an answer. He stuttered, "I…You…uhhhh…I mean…I was going to…but…" Texas smiled at America's blubbering, as if he thought it was cute. This sight gave America direction in what to say, "Diego, why are you not with your brother in Spain?" The other man's dark eyes suddenly turned blacker. He responded in a voice that was carefully level, "Alejandro did not want me with him. He would rather have that Filipino bitch with him than me." America heard bitterness in the Texan's voice, which was strange.

He turned back to his sister and said, "Can we talk for a moment, alone, Annabelle?" The girl didn't look at all intimidated, "If you have something to say, you can say it here in front of Diego. With our physical closeness, we are near enough to be almost family." America didn't like standing so close to someone who looked so much like Mexico but wasn't him. It was a temptation. But he needed a more legitimate reason to want Texas gone. His memory of the last time he had seen Mexico gave him reason enough. He grudgingly spoke to his sister in front of Texas, "That boy is a Spanish colony and given the fragile state we are in right now, we cannot afford Spanish entanglements."

He tried to put the stress on the last word, but his voice came out uneven due to his dishonesty. It came out somewhat shaky, but he got his point across all the same. Texas stood up and took a couple steps forward. He looked very determined. He looked America dead in the eyes, which was quite unnerving, and said, "If that is what worries you, Alfred, let me quiet your mind. France has attacked Spain." This was news that America had neither heard nor expected. Last he knew France was incapacitated by the revolution. Before that, Spain and France had been on the same side of virtually every conflict. France's invasion of Spain was unexpected to say the least.

America responded, "That doesn't change anything." Texas laughed, "But, that's not all of my news. My brother is planning to take full advantage of Antonio's weakness and is planning to start a revolution." All the blood seemed to rush out of his face. Mexico couldn't fight Spain. It was impossible. America spoke out of his own confusion, "No, that's impossible. I saw your brother with Spain, there is loyalty there. There is no way that Alejandro will revolt against Spain." Texas smirked, and he looked even more unnervingly like Mexico, "I thought so too. But, I have a letter, written in my brother's own hand, which details my brother's plan of action."

With that statement, he pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket and handed it to America. The American unfolded it curiously. He recognized the handwriting was all too familiar. The words, however, were shocking. America's hand twitched as he read it, which caused the letter to fall out of his grasp. His shaking hands couldn't seem to steady. The image of Mexico fighting Spain burned into his mind. He couldn't imagine that even Mexico's cunning could defeat the Spanish army. A worse image surfaced in his mind, this time of Mexico beaten and broken, kneeling in front of Spain.

He looked back up at Texas and said with some detachment, "Talk to your brother, talk him out of this. I am begging you." The Texan seemed to find America's distress somewhat amusing, he responded, "Talk to him yourself. He'll be here in a few days. Antonio has sent all of his colonies back to this part of the world. If you want to face his displeasure, you can do it yourself." Texas turned and walked back to Annabelle. She stood and took hold of both of his hands in her own. He said softly, "I will come back as soon as I can to see you." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on both cheeks.

Once he was gone, America turned to his sister and said, "So, now you let him kiss you? Even though he is a Spanish colony, and not even an important one at that." She scoffed, as was a fairly normal occurrence when she was speaking to her brother, "He a better man than you. But that kiss was a simple Spanish gesture, don't overreact." America heard the truth in his sister's voice, and said, "You love him, don't you, Annabelle?" She smiled and it was much sweeter than anything America had seen before. Her response was measured, "Perhaps I do, brother. Perhaps I do."


	33. Chapter 33

This time Mexico couldn't help but interrupt. He could not fully control his temper enough to let the story continue. He snapped, "That two faced cunt! He was supposed to keep that letter a secret. I always wondered how you knew. I should have expected as much." Yet again, America seemed very uncomfortable with Mexico's swearing, "Do you have to be so abusive about your brother? I have to live with him, you know." The other responded with a glare and pushed America's hand off his thigh, "That's your fault; you decided to take him in."

The increase in tension was quite obvious. America realized that he should have known better than to bring up Texas. That man was the biggest problem in their relationship. America hurriedly attempted to change the subject, "So, you started working on the revolution as soon as you got back to the Americas?" Mexico was wary of his lover's strategy, "Don't think you're off the hook, Alfred. We will talk about Texas eventually and you will have to explain it to me. In this meantime, yes I did. Diego informed me that there was only one really significant independence movement, which I capitalized on."  
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The room was packed from wall to wall with people, but all eyes were on the priest in the middle of the room, who was giving a fiery speech about how the Spanish had no regard for the Mexican people. The man was much older than the last time Mexico had seen him, but the mannerisms made it quite obvious that this was the same Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla that Mexico had met years ago on a pier in Mexico City. It was now perfectly clear why the, then young, Costilla had taken notice of Mexico. Their fates were tied together. It was clear that this aging priest was going to be the one to lead the revolution. The speech he was giving was making Mexico's heart race, it was exactly what he had always wanted to hear someone say. It was like someone was finally putting Mexico's hate for Spain into words.

True, he was focusing on the poor workers, which was a class of people that Mexico had very little regard for. But if they were his path to independence, he would gladly entertain their interests, at least for a while. Mexico had heard of this little underground meeting through Texas, and had chosen to attend to assess the state of the revolution. It was about as strong as he had expected it to be, combined with anti-Spanish sentiment in the upper class; this could become exactly the kind of revolution that would destroy Spain's hold. Once that happened, he could have a real confrontation with Spain, who would undoubtedly try to put down the revolution himself. The speech finished and a few other people said a few words, mostly repeating what had already been said. After that, the meeting was concluded and the room began to clear.

Mexico need not take note of who had been there. If there was anyone important, he had already taken precautions. He had told Philippines to wait outside the door and report who had been here. For his part, Mexico stayed seated. He was waiting for a chance to speak to Costilla again. The chance would present itself if he simply waited. As was expected, soon the only mortal left in the room was the priest. The old man collected up a couple pieces of paper and turned to look around the room. He caught sight of Mexico and the recognition was immediate. He looked completely and utterly shocked, which was to be expected. Regardless, his composure remained relatively intact.

The priest quickly walked over to Mexico and sat down in a chair across from him. Mexico spoke first, "It's been a long time, hasn't it, Miguel?" The mortal was still staring at him incredulously, as though attempting to understand what was happening. The greeting confirmed that he was the same person that he had met years ago. Mexico understood the confusion, he hadn't aged since the last time he met Costilla. The priest finally seemed to come up with a response, "Alejandro, if you had the secret to not aging, you should have told me. I would have liked to have not gotten this old."

At this point, Mexico came to the realization that the entire country concept was going to be hard to explain. He had always taken it for granted. Being born a country somewhat confirmed the existence of countries. But explaining it to a mortal was going to be difficult. He went with what his instincts told him to say, "You know how Joan of Arc said she saw France in human form?" The priest nodded, patiently waiting for Mexico to come to the point, "Yes, in her visions from God." The Aztec boy smirked; mortals could find the strangest things to explain countries. He responded, "Trust me when I say, God had nothing to do with it. I've met Francis, and I'm quite certain there is nothing divine about him."

The mortal seemed to understand at once, which was far better than what Mexico had been expecting. The statement that followed confirmed that Mexico's reasoning had worked. The priest said, "You're saying that all countries have human forms. If that was true, they would be practically immortal." Mexico smirked in response, "I'd think it would be fair to say that we don't appear to age to mortal eyes." The mortal man laughed, having finally understood the importance of the situation, "My God. That is something interesting. Considering what you are, and I think that is pretty clear by now, and the fact that you are here; I can guess what country you are."

There was a moment of dramatic silence, and then Costilla continued to speak, "You are Mexico. You're the country I have been preaching for. Ironic, considering I have already heard your story from your own lips." Mexico leaned forward and said, quite convinced that his point had been made, "It all makes sense now, doesn't it? My story?" The mortal mirrored the movement and leaned forward slightly to reply, "Your overprotective guardian must be Spain, who also has a human form." The Mexican boy spat, "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. He's as oppressive as he is proud. It is, as you said today, very necessary that he is overthrown." The Aztec boy's tone of voice dropped into the most resentful version of it. He was letting out his feelings about Spain to someone who would sympathize; he didn't need to hide his hate.

That was why he was somewhat surprised when the priest put his hand on Mexico's knee. As it had been last time they were in this position, the gesture was fatherly. In this case, the age difference this time made it seem far more appropriate. The older man spoke very carefully, "Alejandro, I am honored that you are here and understand that your being here means that the revolution I am hoping to create is supported by God, or fate if you prefer, but I am concerned about you. Why do you want your liberty? Is it for yourself or for personal vendetta?" This was a question that Mexico actually wasn't prepared for. He knew that he hated Spain, but at this point, it was so ingrained that he didn't have a clear reason for revolution. He knew the most truthful answer and he knew that he owed the man who was destined to lead the revolution the truth, "Mostly vendetta. Antonio has wronged me time and time again. He has no right to continue his hold on me. I want to make him pay and the revolution will give me the chance."

This seemed to be the answer that the priest feared, judging by the way his facial expression changed. The answer confirmed this, "Revenge is dangerous to the soul. You can't fight for vendetta, it will destroy you spiritually. You need to fight for yourself. You have so much potential as a country, but being tied to an oppressive country like Spain, it is all wasted. You need to think of the future, not the past." Mexico couldn't help but scoff. A priest would naturally be concerned with the morality of revenge. But, Mexico couldn't find himself worried about his soul; he had too many sins on it by now to worry about something like revenge. He kept his response careful, "I will think on that. But even you cannot deny that revenge is warranted." The priest sighed, "I think you may need me to act as your conscious. Yes, you deserve some vengeance, but that is not the reason you should be free. Don't let hate consume you; hate blinds you to morality. It is a devil that whispers in your ear and leads you astray."

The warning, as much as Mexico wanted to disregard it, was uncanny. Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable. Costilla seemed to know more about what his country had been doing lately than he should. Something about the warning about hate rang true. Mexico knew he should have felt ashamed of himself, but the feeling seemed to be absent. Apart from the vague sense of discomfort, he felt nothing. All the same, the fatherly gleam in Costilla's eyes broke some sort of resistance. The Aztec boy put his hand on the older man's hand where it rested on his leg, "Would you still be willing to hear my confession?" The older man simply nodded.

Mexico quickly gave a summarized account of his past sins, and didn't even attempt to explain away any of them. It was amazing how well the other man handled the information. His composure only slipped when Mexico described the way he had seduced France to convince him to invade Spain. For half a second, the priest looked shocked, but he managed to hide the shock relatively quickly. Once Mexico finished speaking, he fully expected an entire sermon about how wrong everything he had been doing was wrong. But, instead, the priest leaned forward and said, using a voice that was very paternal, "I see now that I need to lead this revolution because you need me to guide you. On your own, you go so far astray. Don't use your sexuality as a weapon, that isn't just committing a sin, it's manipulating a deadly sin."

Mexico nodded although he couldn't take that advice. He had no other way to control Spain, or Colombia, for that matter. Using lust as a weapon was essential, and he couldn't give up on it. He was silent for a couple seconds. Costilla gave the boy time to think about what he had just said. The silence stretched on for a couple minutes until the priest said, "I have a sermon to make tomorrow morning, and it is already late. At my age, sleep is more of a necessity than it is for you. I expect to see you again soon. You will always be able to find me at my parish. Think about what I said, you need to let go of your hate." Only at this point did the priest take his hand off of Mexico's leg. Mexico had to get the final word, "Thank you for the council. I needed it. I will be back soon, I need to see how my revolution has been going."

They both stood up at the same time. They parted and walked different directions. Mexico found Philippines still outside of the door where he had told her to be. As they made their way back to Mexico City, she gave him a whole list of the people who had been at the meeting. None of the names struck Mexico as familiar, which meant that none of them were Spanish spies.

Mexico got back to his house in the middle of the night with every intention of going to sleep as soon as possible. It had been a late night, but one well spent. He was convinced that there was no one better to be leading the revolution, the priest actually understood him, and had some strange ability to make him tell the full truth. Here was a man that Mexico could actually follow because he actually cared deeply about the country. He fully expected the house to be dark when he and Philippines got back. However, all the lights in the house seemed to be on, which meant something was happening. It took only a couple seconds to figure out what was going on.

Mexico was barely inside the door before America walked up to him. The blonde was dressed relatively nicely considering he had been traveling. What he was doing here was a mystery to Mexico. Since the last letter, he and America had had very little contact with each other. There was no reason for him to be here, least of all in the middle of the night. The blonde started speaking very quickly, "Alejandro, I don't know what you are thinking, but you really need to reconsider. There is no way you can rebel against Spain. I mean-"Mexico gasped when the other boy brought up revolution. It was impossible for him to know about it, but somehow he did.

He interrupted the blonde's rant, "I don't know how you know about this, but there is no way you are stopping me. You know nothing about Spain. I do. I know exactly what he will do." America responded quickly and didn't actually seem to care about being interrupted the first time, "I know that Spain is controlling, but you can't rebel against him. You just can't!" The American was being exceptionally childish, which could probably be put down to lack of sleep. Mexico had been in a good mood, which was quickly dissipating. He saw the hypocrisy in this whole situation, "How can you tell me not to rebel? You did. Do you think I am not as capable as you?"

This whole confrontation was taking place in the foyer with both Philippines and Texas, which made the entire thing more awkward. America seemed completely oblivious to the audience, "It's not that I don't think you can. I'm just certain that there must be another way. Can't you and Spain talk it out or something?" This statement hit entirely the wrong nerve, Mexico refused to stand here and have America tell him what to do. He wasn't going to talk to Spain. If he did, it would go nowhere. He felt his temper rising and he wasn't going to try and hold it back in front of Alfred, "How dare you? You know nothing about me and Spain. You hardly know me. We have talked twice and exchanged letters once. Don't presume to steer my life when you know nothing about it. Revolution is my only way of getting free. There is no other way."

As he spoke, Mexico took a couple steps forward, which brought him closer to the American, who didn't move at all. The blue eyes looked pained, obviously hurt by Mexico's yelling. America looked directly into the other's golden eyes and said, "You just can't. I don't want you to." The repetition, if anything, just fed Mexico's already ignited temper. The American was daring to tell him what to do and didn't even have the decency to give him a good reason. Mexico said with the last of his control, "Give me one good reason." America looked to be struggling with his thoughts. Quite suddenly he leaned forward and lightly kissed Mexico on the lips. When he pulled away, he said softly, "I don't want you to get hurt."

Mexico's mind from directed anger to free fall. Kissing someone was far from a new experience, but the sudden heat that washed over him certainly was. He desperately hoped he wasn't blushing. He didn't care about Alfred enough for this to be happening, but it was. He hardly heard the words the blonde spoke. America looked proud of himself for a moment, and then he lapsed into being ashamed. He sheepishly added, "Not that I know how you feel about me or –"

Mexico didn't decide on the next action he took, he simply leaned forward and captured the blonde's lips mid-word. The American seemed to melt into the kiss, allowing Mexico to completely dominate. Mexico put his hands on both sides of the blonde's face and took full advantage of his dominance. America was, by far, the worst kisser Mexico had yet to experience. He was hardly doing anything to reciprocate, although it was obvious that he was trying. Even Colombia, at the age of 14, had been better than this. All the same, Mexico didn't want to pull away. He liked it, which was strange. When he finally pulled away, he did so because he needed to breathe.

America's blue eyes were glazed over and his mouth was still slightly open. Mexico took advantage of the momentary silence to say, "I hope that solves your quandary." He didn't let go of the American's face because he liked the contact. America finally managed to say, "You just kissed me." At this point, Mexico realized that the other was slightly in shock, which really worked to his advantage. While America wasn't resisting, Mexico said, "You have to trust that I know what I am doing. Let me have my revolution like you had yours, understand?" The America seemed to admit defeat, "Alright, Alejandro, I trust you. Ease my mind, find an ally, talk to England, he will help you." The Mexican released the America's face as a sign of disapproval. He didn't want to be told what to do, but this was more like advice. Mexico might actually take this advice at some point. He responded, "Fine, I will talk to him. Now get out of my house before I start regretting that kiss."


	34. Chapter 34

"Hey! You never said I was a bad kisser." Mexico had expected this; Alfred had never been able to accept that he was not a country of love. However, it was not like the Mexican to hold back his opinion on anything, so he said, "You really weren't a good kisser at the time. You have gotten better. But, at times you still forget how to use your tongue." The American scoffed, "How could I possibly forget how to use my tongue?"

While he was talking, America tried to put his hand back on the other's thigh, but failed when Mexico moved his leg. The constant contact was getting slightly annoying to Mexico, as it often did after a while. America could get so clingy once he was comfortable. Mexico responded to what had been intended as a rhetorical question, "You aren't supposed to let it just sit there like a dead fish while I do all the work. I was surprised that Francis didn't teach you that." America leaned over and whispered, "Oh, do you want me to do something like this?" With that, the American licked the shell of his lover's ear. Mexico had to desperately fight to keep from getting stimulated by the wet contact. It was a sloppy attempt at seduction, but it was working all the same. He quickly stood up and walked away from the bed again.

Once the Mexican was on his feet, he started speaking about a different subject, "I took your advice and contacted England. He was more than happy to give me weapons in exchange for trading privileges once I was independent." America seemed highly disappointed about his lover's choice to stand up again. All the same, he continued the conversation, "Is that all he asked for? I know he is usually a gentleman, but imperialists are imperialists." Mexico responded with a backhanded comment, "You would know, wouldn't you? He said he just wanted Spain to feel the pain and humiliation he felt. Nothing more. It was very chivalrous of him." America nodded, "You don't know how relieved that makes me."

Mexico continued to walk around, obviously excited by the next part of the story he was going to relate. His manner of speaking changed slightly, "I can imagine what was happening in Spain while I was maneuvering and it made me happier than I can do justice to with just words. I knew when Spain finally fell, that news came quickly. At that point I knew it was only a matter of time before France gloated to Spain about my offer. As we both know, Francis isn't good at keeping secrets, especially when it comes to matters of sex. I would have paid good money to see Antonio's face when he started to comprehend what I really was, I'll bet it was pretty priceless. I soon got conformation that Spain knew."  
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Philippines walked into the room waving a letter. Mexico was sitting in an armchair reading a book that Costilla had lent him, which was written by someone named John Locke, by candlelight. The Asian girl was smiling widely. She had read the letter already and was very eager to tell Mexico what the paper said, "Spain has sent you a very strongly worded letter demanding that you return to Spain at once. He claims that he has the need to discipline you, something about an affair with France. I'm sure you know what he is talking about."

This statement was one Mexico had been waiting for; it meant that France had finally told Spain about the afternoon he had spent with Mexico. He set the book aside, it was an interesting read, but the overall philosophy placed too much trust in the common people. Mexico refused to buy into it completely. The peasants needed to be controlled to some extent for the preservation of the aristocracy, which, naturally, had the right to rule. He stood up and walked over to Philippines. Only when he was standing in front of her, did Mexico say, "Oh, he's going to punish me, is he? Tell me, Piri, do you think I should be scared? Should I bow to him when he has proven himself weak?" He took the letter from her hand.

It had obviously been written by someone in great emotional distress. The writing was uneven and at several points so distorted that it could hardly be read. Some words were slurred together so that whole sentences appeared to be connected. This indicated that the person writing the letter did not have the time or the clarity of mind to pick up their pen in between words. At points, the pen had punched through the paper and left small holes. The end was peppered with little gray circular blurs, which one could only interpret as tears. The state of the letter revealed more about Spain's emotions than the actual words.

Philippines replied to Mexico's questions, "Naturally not. His weakness is your opportunity. If he wants to punish us, he will have to bring his army over the Atlantic, if it is not too busy with France, that is." The banter was playful, despite the serious nature of the situation. They were both highly satisfied with Spain's rising ire; it meant that the revolution was at hand. Mexico skimmed the letter quickly. It was confused, as was to be expected. At points it was wrathful, using all kinds of abusive language, and at other parts it was highly dismissive, swearing that he didn't believe a word that France spoke. Mexico smirked; he now had the Spaniard exactly where he wanted him. He could make all the threats he wanted, but that changed nothing.

He said, the smirk still plastered on his face, "This is what I think of Antonio's threat." He took a couple strides back over to the candle and placed the corner of the letter in the flickering flame. The paper caught fire immediately and began to burn. Spain's words quickly were reduced to ash. Mexico completed his thought, "It's far too late for such petty words. If Antonio wishes to hurt me, he will have to do it with action. Let a report of Hidalgo's rabble rousing make its way to Spain and we shall see what he makes of it. That is my reply. It's his move now."

Philippines nodded sharply and turned to leave. Right before she left, Mexico called to her "Piri, what is the date?" She turned and responded, "Why would that be important?" Mexico absentmindedly brushed the ashes from the letter off of the table as he replied, "This is the start of my new life, you see, and I want to know the date so I can mark it down for historians to remember." It was a grand response, but it fit the deep feeling of destiny in his heart at the moment. This was exactly right; it was how everything was supposed to work out. There had to be fate at work here. Philippines seemed to understand and replied, "It's September 15th, 1810." He nodded, "Thank you. That is all I require from you tonight."  
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The next day Mexico felt the need to travel to Dolores, although the town held very little real significance that he was aware of. It was a small town outside of a much larger city. It should not hold any importance whatsoever, but somehow he knew it would. Very early in the morning, he had woken with the feeling that something very important was going to happen here. He couldn't sleep all through the morning and decided that he had to go and go alone, it was very important to his destiny. That was how he found himself in the small town as the church bell struck 5 in the morning. Mexico had no idea where he needed to be, but he figured that the church in the center of the town was the best place to start if he was looking for an important event.

He walked in that general direction, but he very soon found a familiar face. Or, more accurately, a familiar face found him. Mexico felt a tap on the shoulder and he turned to face an old priest that he recognized. Hidalgo smiled when Mexico turned to face him, "I thought it might be you. What is the physical representation of our country doing this far away from the capital in such a small town?" Mexico wished he could give a good reason, but he didn't have one at the moment. To substitute for a proper response he said, "I don't rightly know, but I had a feeling that I was destined to be here at this time. As you have told me before, God works in mysterious ways."

The priest put his arm around the other's shoulder and said, "I can tell you why you are destined to be here. Some of my associates have been betrayed to the Spanish authorities. At this point, I fear for my own liberty. If word of my rebellion spreads further, I will become a fugitive from the Spanish authorities." Mexico could hardly act surprised considering he had commanded Philippines to release some of the details of the revolution and that had included allowing some of the arrests. He had done that much a couple days ago to encourage the revolution, sending the final report to Spain had just been the last step in the process. Before the night he received Spain's letter, he had kept knowledge of the revolution strictly domestic in order to maintain control. Although he wanted to protect the revolution, Mexico had deemed the arrests and the reports necessary. Fear was one of the few things that drove people to quick action and Mexico now needed action before Spain decided to deal with his insolence by sending an army.

All the same, he responded to Hidalgo by saying, "Does that make you doubt the revolution?" They started to walk slowly, with the contact between them unbroken. The priest spoke, looking directly at Mexico as, "Of course not. I am your champion, that much is sure. I cannot be your champion from jail. I refuse to let myself be cajoled by the Spanish. Today, here, I am going to make an announcement that will make you very happy." The Mexican boy couldn't help but smile, he expected as much. He had some inkling of what the announcement was going to be. He would wait to see how Hidalgo would word it, but he knew this would most likely be the first true call for independence. Mexico responded, "I look forward to hearing it. When will you make your speech?"

The old priest responded, "The majority of the town will be awake in about an hour or so, and I will make my speech then, when it will do the most good. I already have an army assembled, of course, but the real power for change lies in appealing to the common people. In the meantime, I have someone you should meet." Mexico, for his part, had no idea who he was about to meet, but he trusted Hidalgo enough to go along with it for now. The walk to the central church was short. Once they were inside, Hidalgo released Mexico's shoulder and beckoned to another man who was sitting on one of the pews reading a letter.

Mexico couldn't place why the man looked familiar, but he did. His appearance showed him to be of Spanish blood, most likely a creole like Hidalgo. Creoles seemed to be the ones with enough position and interest to lead the revolution .The priest spoke, "Ignacio, I have someone you should meet. I told you I met Mexico and you didn't believe me. Well, now I have proof now. He's here and you should talk to him." The man finally looked up and his eyes fell on Mexico immediately. His face didn't betray any signs of emotion at all. He put the letter aside and stood up. His mannerisms made it quite clear that the unfamiliar man was trained in the military; he had the stiff controlled manner of someone who had been trained to have an awareness of his body.

He walked over to Mexico and looked him up and down silently before finally saying, "I imagined you to be older." This as an introductory comment was somewhat amusing to Mexico; it was the type of thing he would have said. It was probably true as well. The country was well aware of the fact that he looked physically just shy of 18, which made him appear considerably younger than anyone else in the room. Hidalgo seemed to be more irritated, "This is Ignacio José de Allende. He's been recruiting and organizing our militia. You will excuse his manner; he is a bit too proud for his own good." The criticism was one Mexico was already familiar with, it was often said of him too.

The man made a slight bow, "It's a pleasure to meet you. Miguel has told me quite a bit about you." Mexico raised his eyebrow and threw a glance at Hidalgo, "Nothing too shameful I hope." The other responded, "Of course not. Despite his other flaws, Miguel is a priest and has kept your confidence" Mexico felt slightly relieved that the worst of his transgressions was not widely known. The dynamic between the two of them was palatably different than the dynamic between Mexico and Hidalgo. It was no less sincere, but it was different. This felt more like mutual respect, whereas, the feeling with Hidalgo was more paternal. Allende took a couple steps to the side, his eyes still fixed on Mexico's face. He still seemed to be sizing the other up. The room went silent.

In the background, the bell rang that signaled that a half hour had passed since five o'clock. Hidalgo turned to look over his shoulder before turning back to Mexico. He said, "I should prepare for my speech. I will leave you two to speak." The other two watched the man walk out of the church. Once he was gone, Allende began to speak again, "Oh good, he's gone. Now, I need to talk to you about the revolution." Mexico felt confused, but highly intrigued. He let the other man speak. Allende was standing in a typical military fashion, with his hands folded firmly behind him.

When he spoke, he said, "Miguel speaks well and he appeals to the masses, but he isn't the man you want leading the revolution. For a priest, he is immoral. Do you know that he had a child out of wedlock?" Mexico responded with a scoff. In all honesty, he didn't know about the child, but it hardly changed his opinion. He responded, "There have been popes who have had several children. That hardly means anything." The other man looked somewhat shocked by the response. He obviously was expecting the country to be much more moral than he actually was.

As it was, he changed tactics, "Yes, perhaps that is true. But he is an immoral priest and that does not qualify him to lead a revolution. You need someone with military experience leading your army." Mexico suddenly caught the meaning quite clearly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before he said, "You mean yourself. You want to lead." The shift of facial expression confirmed that this was true. Internally, Mexico sighed, he needed the revolution to be a unified front. Personal ambitions among the leaders were just going to destabilize the effort. He needed to diffuse this with the most delicacy possible. He would rather show favor to Hidalgo, who he shared the most profound bond with, and who had been there much earlier. Allende was a relative stranger. However, he was going to be crucial for military strategy.

Mexico responded with a statement that was careful, "I understand your ambition, but at the moment we can't afford the competition. Let Miguel have the title of general, but remember that you have the real control." The other man didn't seem particularly impressed by this reasoning, "But why let him have the title? He should be put aside as soon as the real revolution starts. He isn't someone with military experience and that will lead him to make bad decisions in the heat of battle, especially since he doesn't have the moral compunctions that he claims to have."

Mexico knew that there was some logic behind the statement, but he couldn't accept it. He needed Hidalgo, the early contact between them proved that much. Immorality was hardly a problem big enough to warrant disregarding a man who had already been so understanding. Mexico attempted to end the conversation, "Because the people love him. He is the face of the revolution. We have very little choice in the matter. If he makes a mistake that tarnishes his reputation, then you can take the leadership position away from him if you so desire."

Again, the bell rung to signal the time. An hour had apparently passed since Mexico had arrived in the small town. This was the time that Miguel had said he would start his speech. The Mexican boy desperately wanted to see this. It would be, without a doubt, one of the most important moments in his history. He looked over his shoulder at the door. The he turned back to Allende and said, more to himself than to the other, "Miguel is starting to speak now. I should go watch it." Allende nodded, "Yes you should. We can continue this conversation later, and we will continue it because I don't think Miguel is the man you think he is." Mexico nodded without really agreeing. He didn't actually care about anything at the moment except the call to arms that he knew was happening just outside the door. He turned and walked out.

The crowd in the middle of the town was quite sizable. The priest was standing on a raised platform speaking to the crowd. Despite the size of the crowd, it was completely silent except for Hidalgo's voice, which carried over the crowd easily. The voice was full of passion, as was to be expected from someone who had spent their whole life giving sermons. But, this emotion was different. There was pride in it, as well as something that sounded like a genuine concern for the common people. Hate only slipped out when he spoke about the Spanish, who were, according to him, using their position to oppress the Mexican people. His emotions echoed the ones that Mexico had been feeling for years.

Mexico walked around the back of the crowd, observing the reactions of the people. As the speech continued, the words became far more radical, but that seemed to appeal to the people. Hidalgo wisely started softly and escalated the emotion and the passion as he went. The crowd was easily caught up in the passion. As it got near the end, a roar slowly began to rise from the crowd as the people become more angry and excited. The words spoken now were pure treason; they called for overthrow of the Spanish aristocracy for the good of the country. The sounds from the crowd grew in a crescendo.

As it did, Mexico felt strange warmth growing in his heart. It was more than just excitement. It rushed from his heart through every vein and capillary in his body, carrying the feeling to every part of him. This sensation made him feel alive in a way he had only gotten glimpses of before. It was a feeling of pride and destiny, like the oppression that he had been living under for so long was finally be lifted like a physical weight. He knew that this was the real start of the revolution. He was cutting his ties with Spain and finally throwing away the mask of civility he had worn for so long. Soon Spain would know exactly what he was capable of, and he would be ready to take the reaction.

A single phrase reverberated through the air as hundreds of voices shouted it. It was like a heartbeat to Mexico, constant and pulsating. It gave him life like nothing else ever had. This was all he needed now, nothing else mattered. He looked up and even through the crowd, his eyes caught Miguel's. The priest smiled at him and nodded, as if saying that this was their moment. Mexico smiled back, showing that he had seen the gesture and understood it. He said the words that were singing in his blood, curiously softly considering how much they now meant to him, "Viva la revolucion."


	35. Chapter 35

Mexico had now started pacing as he told the story. America noticed that his lover's eyes seemed to have a glimmer to them that had been absent for the rest of the story. The emotions that had been present during the revolution were resurfacing as Mexico recounted the events. America, even though he was also a country born of revolution, had a hard time understanding how much Mexico's revolution meant to him. The American Revolution had not possessed the same raw passion or emotion. Perhaps it was because he had never truly hated England, or maybe it was because, though the fighting had been hard, he had never had to sacrifice like Mexico had for the sake of his independence. Whatever the reason, America couldn't empathize with the feelings but he could wonder at them. Mexico was never more beautiful than he was when he was overcome by nationalistic fervor. It made the gold in his eyes dance like fire. His complexion even seemed to brighten as the blood rushed to his cheeks. This made the American even more disappointed by the fact that Mexico was choosing to stand and pace instead of sitting next to him.

He attempted to break the revelry by saying, "You think very well of Hidalgo don't you?" Mexico looked at his lover, but it was almost like he was looking through him, his mind still lost in the memories of the past. All the same, his response was very grounded, "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. He was human and I allow for that. He wasn't perfect by any measure. He, like almost everyone, desired his own elevation above everything. He was more in favor of creole dominance than he represented to me. But, I will always remember him as a hero despite that. Excluding my actual father and Portugal, he was the closest thing I had to a real father figure." America nodded because he was not entirely sure what to say. In truth, he felt that way about his revolutionary leaders. He knew that none of the founding fathers had been saints, but that fact didn't stop him from loving them.

Mexico continued talking, "I soon sent for my brother and Piri, I knew that my capital wouldn't be the safest place for them now that revolution had actually been declared. We set up camp in Dolores for the first days before the real violence started. For my part, I counted the days until the reports of Miguel's speech reached Spain. I wanted to see the reaction. I wanted to see the pain when Spain realized that he had put his trust in entirely the wrong person. When I got bored, I decided to get the revolution moving. That was when I got the first real insight into what I was capable of."  
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Mexico was sitting playing a simple game of cards with Philippines in a small building in Delores. Texas was sitting by himself in a different part of the room, writing a letter. It was something he had been doing a lot lately. Mexico hadn't gone to the trouble of monitoring his brother's letters. He didn't have the time to read every letter. He doubted they were to Spain anyway, because the other had no reason to love Spain any more than Mexico did. His presumption was that he was writing to America's sister. His obsession with her had gotten irritating. He always spoke about her on the rare occasions that the two brothers talked.

They were waiting for two different things. Presumably, everyone was waiting for the whole of the militia to arrive and be organized. But Mexico was waiting to hear word from Mexico City; he needed to know that Spain knew and understood. This was his vengeance and he wanted it to be perfect. After all of the waiting, scheming and maneuvering, he wanted to see that it all worked out. Hidalgo would disapprove of his drive for vengeance, but Mexico couldn't silence it. The hate that had simmered inside of him for so long was finally being fulfilled.

Philippines laid down her cards, apparently frustrated, "Mexico, you aren't paying any attention to this. What is distracting you?" Mexico put down his cards as well. She was right; he had not really been paying attention. He was too preoccupied with everything else to be good at cards right now. He responded, "I'm sorry, Piri. I'm thinking about Antonio. What kind of emotions do you think he is feeling right now? I've got some guesses." She leaned back and looked at the ceiling, "That's strange. I have been trying to not think about him. He's probably livid." The Mexican boy disagreed, "I doubt it. He's probably confused and sad. I'd reckon there is a good deal of denial too. He's probably blaming Miguel, blaming Alfred, even blaming Francis. But I know one thing: He's blaming everyone but me. You see, I am precious to him and he can't believe I would be the one to betray him. That will be his downfall."

Unexpectedly, Texas cut into the conversation and his tone was highly critical, "You have everything planned out, don't you? You're putting on a brave front because you think you know what will happen, but I know you're scared. We're all scared. Do you remember, brother, what happened the last time Antonio went to war on this soil?" Mexico was genuinely taken aback by this. He hadn't let himself contemplate defeat. He was so certain that he would win, that all of his plans would come to fruition. He certainly hadn't forced himself to think about his mother's death, which was, of course, what Texas was referring to. History would not repeat itself; he would make sure of it. Mexico responded to his brother, "I know, he destroyed our mother." The words were delivered as coldly as possible despite the fact that the event that he was referring to was the one that had caused the anger within him in the first place. Texas nodded, now sufficiently distracted from his letter, "Exactly, and we both know that time has not made him kinder. If we fail, all of our lives will be forfeited. We should be terrified."

Mexico found it hard to believe that Spain would ever kill him. There was too much between them for cold blooded murder on Spain's part. If he was really forced into it, Mexico was certain that he could talk his way out of it. He could say that it was momentary insanity. Spain, of all people, knew what it was like to make rash decisions that were later regretted. His response to Texas didn't reveal any of his thinking, "That makes it simple then, doesn't it? We don't lose for the sake of our survival." Texas shook his head, as though he didn't quite believe what his brother was saying. He refrained from saying anything else, probably because of his loyalty to his brother. Philippines spoke, her silence had been unusual, "You have confidence that anyone would kill to have."

There was a sharp knock at the door, which, thankfully, disrupted the conversation. Mexico walked over to the door and opened it. Hidalgo smiled, "You look bored. I think it's past time we moved to make the revolution more than just words." Mexico liked the sound of that; he had been waiting far too long anyway. He responded, "That sounds promising. I assume you mean that you want to march to Guanajuato." The feeling in the air shifted dramatically. Suddenly it was expectant, as if everyone in earshot knew that something was about to happen. The priest nodded, "Our army is large enough by now to take the city. It will be an important blow to strike since the city is a mining center." The Aztec boy nodded. Satisfied, the priest added, "I'll give you a few minutes to tidy up here and then we will start moving."

Once he was gone, Mexico turned to the other two in the room and said, "My first real combat experience, this should be interesting." Philippines stood up at once and said firmly, "I'm going to come with you. You need me by your side." Before Mexico could manage a response, Texas stood up as well. The man's black eyes were filled with something that resembled anger. He spoke directly to Philippines, "He's my brother! If anyone is going to go with him, it will be me." The Mexican watched this confrontation feeling a little bewildered. He had no idea that Texas felt jealous of the relationship forming between him and Philippines. This whole thing was an unnecessary distraction that he did not need at this time. The only solution at this moment that would free Mexico to go lead an army was to say, "That is enough. Both of you are staying here. I will send word when the city is taken. In the meantime, I suggest you deal with your issues."

In all honesty, he would rather take Philippines, who was battle trained. But at this point he couldn't afford the argument. Neither of the other two people in the room looked happy about the decision, but they were no longer speaking. All the same, Mexico had to be sure; he said, "Is that clear to both of you?" They both nodded grudgingly. Mexico turned and walked out of the room and into a smaller room that housed his, somewhat limited, personal belongings. He had only brought what was strictly necessary. He was already wearing most of the clothing he had. From the room, he grabbed a coat that was extravagant enough to show his authority, but plain enough to keep him from being more noticeable than necessary. He grabbed his sword and attached the scabbard to his belt.

He didn't intend to use this today. Simple mortals could be dealt with using a gun or a knife. The sword was meant for one person and only one person: Spain. On the side of his belt opposite the sword, he attached a holster with a pistol. This would be a far more practical weapon for close combat with mortals. He remembered another weapon he had at his disposal. Mexico took off the jacket and rolled up his sleeve. From the small pile of clothing and weapons he had brought with him, he removed a small dagger with a very unique scabard. Mexico strapped the leather scabard to his right wrist. It was designed so that it could be worn without the blade of the dagger doing any damage to the skin. But, a specific wrist flick would cause the straps to release and the dagger to fall into the wearer's hand. It would be a useful last resort. The blade itself was very small, but sharp enough to cut through flesh easily. It was long enough to kill a man if a strike hit between the ribs. With the edition of the dagger, Mexico now had all the weaponry he was probably going to need. After he pulled the coat back on and buttoned it, Mexico stopped for a second to look at himself in a small cracked mirror on the wall. There was something splendid about the reflection, even though the figure was not wearing a true military uniform. All the same, he looked commanding and regal.

Mexico had to admit to himself that even though he had plotted to be standing in this position for centuries, there was something overwhelming about standing here, ready to go fight for his freedom. It made him feel almost lightheaded. But, the key to winning would be to keep a clear head. He could not let his feelings cloud his mind when he should be focusing on the fight, Portugal had taught him that a long time ago. So, Mexico took several deep breathes before walking back out into the main room of the building. As he had expected, Philippines and Texas were not talking to each other. Instead, they were sitting in different quadrants of the room attempting to do anything but look at each other.

Philippines noticed Mexico's presence and stood up to meet him at the door. He allowed her to put her hands on his shoulders and pretend to be straightening the coat. Mexico reached out and put his hand on her cheek, which caused her to look up at him. He spoke first, being careful to make this feel casual, "Hold down the fort for me, Piri. And if news comes from my capital, make sure I hear about it as soon as possible." She nodded, "I will. I should be going with you, but I am sure this will be nothing more than a simple skirmish." Quite suddenly, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek lightly. It would not have been a strange gesture from someone like Puerto Rico, who was inclined towards affectionate contact, but coming from Philippines this was odd. Mexico had to comment on it, "What was that for?" The Asian girl smiled up at him and said simply, "For luck." But, Mexico saw for a second that there may be something more to it in the glimmer of her eyes. But, he chose to ignore what could have just been a trick of the light. Mexico turned and walked out of the door.  
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The ride to the town was uneventful. It might have even been considered boring if the even that it brought them closer to was not so monumental. Hidalgo had cautioned against Mexico, despite his eagerness for battle, riding into unnecessary danger. For that reason, Mexico was holding back with the priest and Allende instead of fighting. They waited just outside of the main entrance to the city while the rest of the militia did most of the menial fighting. Mexico was leaning forward in his saddle looking out at the city as though he could see the whole of the fighting if he just looked a little bit harder. He could easily hear the sound of gun shots and the occasional whinny of an injured horse. It was a cruel tease to Mexico, especially since he could feel the need for bloodshed in his own mind.

It was a sentiment carried by almost all of the country by this point. Most of those who were fighting in the revolution wished to spill Spanish blood as recompense for whatever injustices they thought they were fighting to correct. The loyalists wanted to put down the revolution, and if that meant blood, they were not going to object to blood lust. In short, the whole of the country waited with baited breathe, rather like a crowd watching a match of gladiators, for the first drops of blood to truly be spilt. When he closed his eyes, Mexico could feel it pulsing through his body. The example made here today would both satisfy and accelerate that blood lust. It would prove that the Spanish were not untouchable because of their social standing.

Mexico's thoughts were interrupted by Hidalgo putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. The priest looked to be nearly as excited about the fighting, but his restraint was better. He spoke directly to Mexico, "Are you alright? You seem agitated." Mexico responded at once, "I want to be in the thick of things, not waiting back here. I want to fight for my freedom, not let others win it for me." The priest smiled knowingly, even though he couldn't possibly understand what his country was going through at that moment. His response was hardly something one would expect a man of the church to say, "If it is Spanish blood that you want, you shall have it. But I caution you again, do not let your hate control you and lead you into reckless decisions. When you have the proper opportunity, I will not restrain you."

In some part of his mind, Mexico saw the sense in this, but that didn't stop him from being disappointed. Allende eased his horse forward so that he was on the other side of Mexico. He fixed his eyes on Hidalgo as he spoke, "You shouldn't speak about things you don't fully understand, priest. Killing isn't something that should be taken lightly, especially in the context of war. You shouldn't seek to spill anyone's blood. That only leads to the slaughter of innocents. The only people who deserve to die are those who would kill you first if they had the chance." Mexico wasn't listening very attentively. He respected Allende's ability to organize and command the militia, but if this was to be about morality, then Hidalgo would naturally have the high ground.

The sound of gunfire had decreased significantly while they were talking. Once this came to Mexico's attention he turned to Hidalgo, as though silently asking permission. The priest gave a slight nod, which was enough for Mexico to urge his horse forward at a quick trot. There were the largest piles of bodies right near the entrance of the city, where the fighting had presumably been the fiercest. It appeared that there had been a relatively small force protecting the city, despite its significance for mining and governance of the smaller surrounding towns. This made sense, considering that only the ports had had any reason to protect themselves. No one had attacked this city for as long as it had existed. Until now, the defenses had been untested. Mexico carefully maneuvered his horse around or over the corpses, which had no importance to him. None of them had enough significance. He did not expect to find the governor of the city among these bodies. The governor was the only man that Mexico wished to find, as he was the physical representation of Spanish authority.

Mexico glanced to his right and caught sight of Allende, who was riding just behind him. Hidalgo was farther behind. Allende spoke to Mexico, "It is always sad to see the destruction that war leaves. Is this the first time you have seen death?" The Aztec boy smirked and attempted to not make himself think about the most painful death in his life. Instead, he went for a different response, "Of course not. Some time I will have to tell you about my mother." The man responded in a somewhat scornful tone, "A boy your age should not be so jaded. It's sad to see how cold you are."

They reached a granary in the center of the city, which is where most of the militia was gathered. Allende walked up to one of them and said, "Give me a briefing. What is going on?" The solider responded, gesturing over his shoulder to the closed doors to the granary, "The city's higher-ups have barricaded themselves in there. We need to decide what to do with them." At this point Hidalgo's voice came from right behind Mexico, "It shouldn't be a question. We need only break through and kill all of those inside. Mexico dismounted and walked over to stand next to Allende so he could see Hidalgo. But it was the other commander who spoke first, "Yet again, you show your ignorance, priest. I suggest we persuade them to let me in, I will talk to them. They may be more willing to support the revolution than you expect. Massacring everyone is not the answer."

Mexico was, yet again, more inclined to side with Miguel, but he tried to stay silent. The priest quickly dismounted and walked over to the other two. There was a fight rising between the two mortals. Hidalgo responded, "Ignacio, don't let your pride get in the way of this. They will not listen to you. They are loyalists and should be made an example." Yet again, Mexico agreed with the priest. One example of what would happen to those that defied the revolutionary forces would be enough to frighten the rest of the country. His mother had taught him a long time ago that fear could control people more effectively than any other force. Though the display would have to be violent, but it would eventually be a deterrent to everyone else. That was the logical side of his desire, but that wasn't what was really driving him. He wanted to make a show of savagery to let Spain know how serious he was. It would let Antonio know what he was truly capable of, and hopefully the Spaniard would be horrified. That was his real drive, the idea of the look on Antonio's face when he heard of this.

Between the other two, the argument continued. Allende was on the defensive, "You don't understand the delicate politics of revolution. I'm certain that more than one of the people in there secretly sides with the movement. I am of the noble class, I understand their concerns." The bickering was irritating. Mexico finally felt the need to speak, "I agree with Miguel on this. The example is necessary." Allende looked somewhat shocked. He said, speaking directly to Mexico, "Can we talk, without the priest present?" The Aztec boy shook his head, "Time is short and there has been enough discussion. He glanced over at Hidalgo, who nodded in approval. The priest spoke, "Alejandro is quite right, we must make our move now. I outrank you, Ignacio. Fall into line, as is your duty." The military man glared at both of the other two and said, his voice little more than a growl, "I will not take part in this massacre, whatever you say, Miguel." With that he turned and walked away.

Once he was gone, Hidalgo turned to look at Mexico and said, "Don't mind him. Let him have his tantrum, we have work to do." It took the soldiers very little time to actually break through the barricaded door. Inside, all of the people were unarmed. Mexico said to Hidalgo, having a sudden thought that may pacify some of the objections, "We should exile those who seem to not be a threat." The priest nodded, "But the rest must die, we are in agreement on that, are we not." Mexico responded simply, "Si." The priest strode into the room and said to the gathered people, "By hiding yourself in here, you have proven yourselves to be loyalists, and for that you will die."

Mexico walked up to Hidalgo and said to him, "Hold a moment, I want to take care of the governor myself." The priest smiled, "This seems rather like vendetta, but I will allow it for now. He would die anyway, it doesn't matter who kills him." He waved to two of the men who were now standing in the doorway, waiting to storm in. The two walked into the crowd of people and came back with a single man between them. He was obviously the governor of the city based on the clothing he was wearing. The Spaniard glared at Hidalgo and then his eyes found Mexico. The Aztec boy took several steps forward so he was standing just in front of the governor.

The man spoke, which Mexico had not expected, "I remember you, Alejandro. Spain introduced us before I took this position." Mexico had no recollection of that meeting, but that hardly mattered right now. This man was proof of the Spanish control here and he was going to die. The man continued, "You have lost your mind, boy. You can kill me if you want and carry on with this unholy rebellion, if you would like. But Spain will quickly put this down and then he will hang you like the traitor you are." Mexico couldn't feel wounded by the words. The threat was a hollow attempt to frighten him. It may have been more effective if the man had not been so obviously scared for his own life. False bravado would not more Mexico, if anything, it was amusing to him.

He smirked and leaned forward so he was very close to the Spaniard, "You speak very boldly for a dead man. Kneel, Spaniard." He nodded to the men on either side of the governor. They forced him down onto his knees. Mexico walked around so that he was standing right behind the man. In a single movement, he pulled the gun out of his holster and put it to the back of the man's head. He couldn't resist getting in one more statement. He said, with some measure of triumph in his voice, "Antonio will not destroy me, but I will destroy him. But first, I will destroy you first." He felt no hesitation as he pulled the trigger. The bullet immediately smashed through the back of the man's skull, into his brain, and out the front of his skull. Blood splattered across the stone floor. The body remained kneeling for a couple seconds and then it fell to the side.

Mexico felt nothing about it other than a slight sense of triumph. Killing was not as satisfying as he thought it would be. It didn't quicken his blood like he expected it to. He stepped over the body and walked back over to Hidalgo. He said to the priest, "I leave the rest to you. Remember to exile some. Kill the rest." As he walked out of the granary, Mexico heard the sound of rifles being fired.  
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A couple hours later, the bloodshed had been completed. By the end of the day, the death toll was high despite the fact that the fighting had been so minimal that it was not even enough to be considered a proper battle. Mexico found himself walking around the city attempting to sort out his feelings, or lack thereof. He expected the feel amazing now that the revolution was official. Guns had been fired; blood had been shed. There was no turning back now. And yet, Mexico didn't feel anything. There had been bits and pieces of excitement, of triumph. But none of it could be considered solid and lasting. There needed to be something more. He needed full vengeance, not this building tension.

As he made his way back to the granary, he noticed a familiar figure. He hailed him, "So, you finally return, Ignacio? You left in quite a state." Allende turned around to face Mexico, his gaze was icy. His voice was just as cold, "Do you understand what you have done because you blindly follow Miguel? Those people were innocent and they were slaughtered by your direction." Mexico sighed; he should have suspected that Allende's moral compunctions had not faded. He responded, "Yes, this was brutal, but it was necessary. Already, the peasants are eager to join the revolution." The mortal took several steps forward to close the gap between them. He spoke, "You have told me what you think you have gained; now I will tell you what you have lost. I will continue to lead the troops because I believe in the movement, but I refuse to fight for Hidalgo. I will not let that murderous, immoral priest tell me what to do."

Mexico immediately saw the problem with this and he quickly said, "That will divide our forces. We hardly have the discipline to operate with one leader, having the men divided between you and Miguel will destroy us." This did nothing to change Allende's glare, "That was the decision you made when you chose to let Miguel kill the innocent. Now you have to live with it. Tell me, Alejandro: was your vengeance against the Spanish worth it?" He gave Mexico one more look before he walked away leaving the boy wondering if he had made the right decision.


	36. Chapter 36

Mexico stopped pacing again and walked back over to the window. America didn't think to say anything. He knew what his lover was capable of, he had heard the stories. He had been there when Texas nearly died on his doorstep. But he had expected to hear some sort of regret or guilt when it was recounted. Instead Mexico had been so cold. There was no emotion whatsoever. Mexico seemed to be truly lost in his own past now. His comment was not directed at anyone when he said, "If I had just taken the time to listen to Ignacio, everything would have been different. But I was young and I was reckless. None of it seemed truly real to me yet."

America nodded because it seemed to be the right thing to do, not because Mexico could see it. He wondered if it would even matter if he said anything, Mexico would probably not even hear him. This was dangerous emotional territory and America knew it. Mexico's emotions had been in check for most of the story due to his exceptional control. But slowly, the cracks were going to start showing. America was hoping that his lover would still be in control when he got to the Mexican-American war or this entire experience of storytelling might turn into one of their notorious fights. But at the moment, all seemed calm. Mexico continued to talk, "If there was one person that I would apologize to in my history, it would be him. I was so blind to everything but my own vengeance that I didn't take the time to just hear him out. He was far wiser than me or Miguel, and I brushed him aside."

America finally spoke, "How could you have known what was going to happen? You were young." He got conformation that Mexico was actually listening when the other turned around and said, "You were younger when you rebelled and you didn't make such a stupid mistake." The American responded with the best thing he could possibly think of, "But I wasn't as emotional as you were. England wasn't that cruel, just a bit unfair. He didn't take the drastic steps that Spain did." Mexico sighed and turned back around, speaking as he did so, "I could tell you about every intermediate battle, but I think you would get bored since you have the attention span of a chinchilla. Most of them weren't vitally important anyway."

America attempted some levity in an attempt to lighten the mood, "You didn't get any of your scars from any of them, then?" He attempted to snicker, but it didn't work. Mexico responded with a glare, "No, most of my scars came from you. But there is one injury I got before I faced Spain." He gestured to a small scar across the bottom of his ribcage. Mexico explained, "I took a bullet there during one of the scrimmages. It just barely strafed me, but it was enough to shed blood and cause some pain. I didn't think it would be a problem, but it turned out to be the one thing that tipped the scale"  
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Texas carefully applied a cloth to his brother's wound. Mexico clenched his teeth as the pain from the contact rushed through him. He was leaning back on his elbows on a bed in order to make the wound more available to Texas, who was attempting to clean it. The wound seemed to hurt far more now than it had when it had actually happened. Mexico had been genuinely surprised when he had looked down to see blood. It had happened during the last scrimmage which was expected to be one of the last ones before the army was able to reach the capital.

From the fact that no reinforcements had been sent to any of the cities thus far indicated that Spain had arrived and was directing movements of troops. This seemed like his style to keep troops in the capital, the viceroy would have sent troops to every city so far in an attempt to slow the revolution. Spain's strategy was far smarter. Spain knew that eventually the rebellion would have to move to the capital, and that would be the place that keeping a large army would be the most beneficial. Mexico wanted his capital back, but there was something about imagining Spain expecting a warm welcome and finding no one that was supremely fulfilling. By now the European must suspect what was happening. On the other hand, Mexico cringed at the thought of the Spaniard sleeping in his bed.

Texas pressed the cloth harder against the wound in an attempt to clean the deepest part of the wound. Mexico hissed through his clenched teeth. Texas saw the reaction and said scornfully, "You should be more careful. This wound could have been a lot worse." Mexico didn't listen to the chiding. It had been exciting to finally get close to the action. His aim had been much better than the man who had attempted to kill him and had successfully put a bullet between soldier's eyes right after he had taken a bullet to the ribs. The wound should heal quickly, but Mexico wasn't healing as fast as he usually would because of the instability in the country. In this way, the revolution was not beneficial. Until one side of the other won, Mexico would be stuck healing at a much slower rate. He responded to his brother, "It's only a scrape, I will heal eventually. It's not worth you worrying."

Texas glared at his brother and swiftly changed the subject to a different complaint, "Why are you having me do this? Nursing is woman's work." Despite his complaints, Texas was doing an excellent job of caring for the wound. It was very cleanly cared for, which would keep it from becoming more of a problem than necessary. Mexico responded, "Of course it is, which is why you're doing it." The younger of the two responded by pressing the cloth into the wound harder than necessary. Mexico understood that the action was punishment for calling his brother feminine. He corrected to a more accurate statement, "Gah…fine, it's because Piri doesn't have the same gentle touch that you do. You're doing a far better job than she would have." With this far more complimentary statement, Texas eased the pressure.

There was no longer any blood, which meant that Texas had done all he could for now. The younger then picked up a linen bandage and started to wrap the bandage around his brother's torso. Mexico closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of his brother's hands brushing lightly against his skin as they wound the bandage. It was nice to feel such gentleness after the last month of nothing but fighting and killing. With his eyes closed, Mexico was able to imagine that the soft skillful fingers belonged to Colombia or Brazil, although she would never do this. It was a very sensual moment, which was strange considering that the two boys were related.

The bandage was quite tight, which was constricting the Mexican's diaphragm slightly. Mexico opened his eyes again and looked at Texas, who was very focused on what he was doing. The older brother spoke, "Could you loosen that a little? It's going to restrict my movement." Texas looked up at his brother and defiantly tied a knot in the bandage. Mexico sighed, "Aren't you supposed to do as I say?" He didn't expect the other to actually change anything he was doing. Texas patted his brother's knee and said, "I'm doing what's best for you and it might just make you a little less active." Mexico leaned forward and said with a smirk, "But you wouldn't really want that, would you?" He placed his hand on Texas's cheek and softly ran his thumb over the boy's lower lip.

Mexico wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but he was suddenly seized with a curiosity. Texas really did look quite a lot like him, especially in this light. Mexico found his own reflection enthralling, but seeing and feeling Texas was different. It was like touching that reflection with all the softness and warmth of real flesh. Mexico found himself wondering how it would be to taste his own reflection. Texas was kept in place by the hand on his face, although he could have gotten up and walked away if he wanted to. Mexico leaned un even closer and said in little more than a whisper, "I don't think I ever properly expressed how grateful I am for how much you've done for me. I owe you so much." He used the hand on his brother's face to ease the younger boy closer and kiss his cheek sweetly. Texas closed his eyes for half a second and then reopened them. He seemed to understand what was going on now. His eyes showed that two parts of him were battling.

Mexico continued to kiss his brother, moving to the corner of his mouth. It was only when their lips overlapped completely that Texas finally seemed to decide and pushed himself away. He said, his voice shaking, "I wanted your affection for such a long time, but this is wrong. You are just lonely and looking for anything to sleep with. We would both regret it later." Mexico didn't feel as put out by this refusal as he had by Argentina's. This had been an experiment and it had failed, that was all. Texas had an excellent point, Mexico had been longing for someone else's touch for at least the last couple weeks, if not longer. Since he had kissed America a little more than a month ago, he hadn't had any truly affectionate contact with anyone. This situation had just been a momentary loss of control. Texas stood up, since he had been on his knees to deal with his brother's wound. He started to walk out, but he turned around at the door and said, "If you're missing Spain so much, you shouldn't have rebelled against him. I'm sure he would be willing to fuck you if you just went back to him."

What had been a sweet moment suddenly turned combative. Mexico was immediately incensed by the statement. He stood up and took a couple steps towards his brother. When he spoke, it was with very deliberate control, "What kind of whore do you think I am? Do you really think I would let Antonio violate me?" Texas snapped back, "Why don't you call him Tony? I know that's what you moan when he has you. I think you would fuck anything that moves, even me." Mexico went from angry to completely enraged. His blood was hot and pounding through his ears. He would not be called a whore, especially by his brother. This wasn't an insult he was going to let stand.

He took a couple more hurried steps forward and struck Texas across the face. The force was enough that the younger boy was forced into a kneeling position. Texas cradled his injured face and looked up at Mexico, who was glaring down at him. As was usual with Texas's temper, he started to deflate now that Mexico's dominance was clear. He said softly, obviously not trying to move his, now bruised, jaw, "You hit me." Mexico knelt so that he was at his brother's level.

Mexico grabbed Texas's chin and forced their eyes to meet. Despite his anger, Mexico was completely in control of himself. His voice was level when he spoke, "Diego, we are brothers and for that reason I love you, but I will be clear about one thing: If you ever even hint that I slept with Spain again, I will do much worse than one slap. Do you understand?" Texas tried to look away, but his brother's hold was too strong. He just nodded without saying a word. Mexico released his brother and stood up. He left the room with Texas still kneeling on the floor behind him.  
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Yet again, America was shocked by the lack of emotion in the retelling. Only the anger seemed to be sincere. Mexico smirked as he finished the story about Texas, "You said I abused him for no reason when you took him in. Well, now you can see that I gave him fair warning." America hardly knew what to say. He had no idea this had been going on in the middle of the revolution. He had been under the impression that, although the tensions had existed before, Texas and Mexico hadn't actually come to blows until much later. It made sense, because a country's emotions could be much more volatile during any period of political upheaval.

He responded to Mexico, "You shouldn't have hit him. I mean, he can be a complete dick, but that doesn't give you the right to smack him around." Mexico laughed, "He was my property at the time, I had the right to do whatever I want to him. It didn't matter though; I had more important things to worry about than a little tiff with my brother." Mexico started to walk around again, getting more agitated, "While I was working on my domestic affairs, Spain was building up his defenses in my capital, and the weirdest part was that I could feel it." America watched as his lover ran his hand over his heart, his nails making tiny white lines on the flesh.

The American couldn't understand the feeling because he had capitals scattered among states. His heart didn't truly lie in Washington DC because that capital was not well established at least from a historical standpoint, But for Mexico, it must be worse because Mexico city had always been the capital, not to mention it was built on the exact same land that had formerly been the Aztec capital. In short, it was Mexico's heart in more than one way and losing it to Spain must have been more incentive for him to continue the revolution.

Mexico walked over to the window again, but stayed there only briefly. He continued to talk, ignoring any reactions from America, "I told Miguel what it felt like and he promised me that we would advance as fast as possible in order to gain control of the capital. As far as I could tell, he was keeping his promise. One battle was really important and I remember it very well."  
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The camp was now housed just outside of Toluca, which was as close as they had thus far gotten to Mexico City. It had been a month and a half since Hidalgo had given his rousing speech in Dolores, but the thrill of it had not yet worn off. Mexico's excitement was actually building, which had seemed hardly possible. The army was growing. After every city was seized, more peasants joined the army, bringing their own weapons. This was both good and bad. The larger army inspired more fear as it moved. Mexico could feel the sentiment of the royalists in the back of his mind, and this told him that they were scared. Royalists were beginning to fear for their own positions. They knew that the revolution wasn't a passing movement that could be easily crushed by the Spanish.

The growing sentiment was the good, but there was a bad that either balanced or outweighed the good. The militia had hardly been organized to begin with, and the increased size was destabilizing the army further. It was all but impossible to keep the army from looting and pillaging in the cities that had already been taken, which was stirring discontentment in the officers, who felt like they had very little ability to control anything. Mexico watched as Hidalgo and Allende worked in opposition of each other. One was attempting to convince the officers to push for time to stop and train the army to have more discipline and control, the other was attempting to soothe tempers in order to keep the momentum moving. Mexico continued to agree with Hidalgo, as troublesome as the disorder was, if the momentum was lost then the revolution would soon stagnate and the fervor in the peasantry would dissipate. So, as it was, they continued to move forward despite Allende's objections.

It was the afternoon in late October and Mexico could feel that something was about to happen. By this point, it was a familiar sensation. Before every battle, he felt a mounting sense of excitement, which only abated after the final gunshots, had been quieted. There was something addictive about the rush, the more he had, the more he wanted. He walked into the building where Hidalgo had set up command, like many of the other occasions; it was a small wooden building. Once he got inside, he saw Miguel leaning over a map of the area. The priest looked up at Mexico as he walked in and smiled.

Mexico walked up to the other side of the table, fully expecting a briefing. Hidalgo spoke to his country, "I've got news for you: This one is going to be a real battle." The other responded, "Oh, in what way?" The priest straightened up, which he did surprisingly quickly considering his age, and looked straight at Mexico, "The governor of the town sent for troops from the viceroy, and it seems that he actually got a response. We're going to actually be dealing with a Spanish army." The Aztec boy felt himself beginning to smile; despite the fact that he knew this should be bad news. First, this indicated the first real move by Spain to stop the advance. The spot was well chosen, this town created a bottleneck before the actual capital. A couple well placed regiments could wreak absolute havoc on a rebel army attempting to make a move on the capital, thinning out the ranks at the very least. This would, of course, be a problem.

Mexico knew that his own geography was against him and that the army was nowhere near organized enough to deal with the Spanish in a tight spot. It was true that he would have superior numbers on his side, but that might not be enough. But, this meant something momentous: Spain was paying attention and playing his cards carefully. That alone was enough to give Mexico hope in the moment because it meant that he was one step closer to seeing the look of shock and loss on his colonizer's face, which was the thing that he had done all of this for.

After musing for a couple minutes, he looked back up and said, "Are we prepared to deal with a trained army?" The priest had obviously been contemplating this when Mexico walked in and quickly said, "We can defeat them, certainly, we have the larger force." Mexico walked around the table and stood next to Hidalgo. He looked down at the map, although he didn't particularly need to. He knew the geography naturally because it was a part of him. He spoke after seeming to look at the map, "But a better trained army can easily defeat a force twice the size. If they position themselves here, they will be very hard to dislodge." While he spoke, Mexico pointed to a specific spot on the map that corresponded to the physical place where the army could easily place themselves to have the high ground.

Hidalgo also pointed to the map, "I may not be a strategist, as Ignacio likes to say loudly and often, but our forces are large enough that a direct assault could be effective." Mexico wasn't sure he agreed with the logic, but he was inclined to trust Hidalgo. So far, the priest had proven his worth time and time again. However, he said, "I think you should put Ignacio in direct command this time, his military expertise could be invaluable." The priest grudgingly nodded, "I see your point. I will have someone inform him".

A true military man would help keep control of the army at the very least and that would give the revolutionary forces a much better chance of winning. On that, at least, Allende had always been right. Mexico kept his remaining doubts to himself. His mother had taught him a long time ago not to rely on numbers, especially large numbers that lacked discipline. But he knew that to stop now and organize and train would be folly, many of these men were farmers and peasants and would take significant time to train. That pause would cause the farmers to leave to till their fallowed fields. But that would be the least of it; the time would also enable Spain to bring more reinforcements across the Atlantic. The edge in battle wasn't worth the losses that it would cost.

Hidalgo changed the subject, "How's your wound? Is it healing?" Mexico subconsciously put his hand on his ribs where the gunshot had been. It had hardly healed at all due to the chaos in the country. Certain movements still caused the wound to hurt and bleed slightly. But, he didn't want to cause Hidalgo unnecessary worry in the middle of such an important time. He said evasively, attempting to not lie, "It is healing." The priest nodded, "I'm glad, we need you to be ready for the battle. We should make our move very soon."  
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The morning was crisp, at least as crisp as it was ever going to get in a tropical climate. To Mexico, it felt very much like any other eve of battle with the excitement rising in his blood. He knew that there was going to be much more riding on this battle than ever. They couldn't fail here; this was the key to getting to the capital. Mexico yet again made sure all his weapons were in place. Since the first battle, he had gone from carrying one pistol to carrying two. He was perfectly capable of dual wielding and having the ability to fire off two shots in a matter of seconds was instrumental. It made it so that almost no mortal could touch him.

Philippines was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room with Mexico's sword across her knee. She was carefully running a whetstone over the blade to sharpen it. She was doing this simply out of obedience. She was very mad at him at the moment because she had yet been unable to take part in any of the scrimmages. The tension between her and Texas was something that Mexico hadn't yet done anything about. He could have mediated it, but that would take time and energy, neither of which he had to spare.

Mexico finally spoke to her, only half expecting a response, "Piri, I need that sword now." She sighed and set aside the whetstone, "I'll give it to you under one condition: You actually talk to me. I realize you have been busy, but that is no excuse for treating me like your maid." Mexico smirked; this was a prime example of the ferocity that he loved about Philippines. He had agreed with Allende that this was the morning that they would move the army into position to make a move on the royalists. Mexico hardly had the time to have an argument, so Philippines could have the high ground because of the time crunch.

Mexico responded, "You know I could wrest the sword from you if I wanted to. You don't get to dictate when we speak." She stood up and took a few steps backwards, still firmly holding onto the sword, "Don't play that card with me, I know you too well. You won't attempt a confrontation now because you want to save your strength and energy for the real fight." Mexico conceded that she was right; he didn't have much ability to control this conversation. So, he changed his tactic, "Fine. What do you want to talk about? Make it quick." She started to nervously drum her finger against the flat of the blade, as though she was carefully considering her words. But her gaze was steady and met Mexico's without a trace of doubt, "Why did you train me if you were going to keep me out of combat?"

He had expected this question from the start of the conversation, and he had an answer. It wasn't necessarily the one he wanted to give, but it was the truth, "I meant to have you by my side, since you fight almost as well as I do. But Diego is making things complicated. I don't want to upset him more than necessary." Philippines raised a single black eyebrow skeptically, "Why does he get to change your plans? He's your brother. He's stuck with you. Let him be upset, he can't exactly leave you. Let me be of use to you."

Mexico considered this carefully. He didn't want to be hard on Texas, especially after they had just fought, but at the moment Philippines was far more pressing. A sudden idea struck him, one that would be a good way to pacify all parties involved. He said, matching the girl's gaze, "Actually there is something you can do to be of use." Philippines continued to look skeptical, "It better not involve your socks." He took a step forward and said directly, ignoring the other's sarcastic comment, "I need you to do a little recognizance for me. I want you to sneak back to the capital and tell what Spain's defenses look like. I don't want to walk into an ambush after we win today. And if you can get close to Spain, tell me what kind of emotional state he is in, because I'm sick of guessing." It seemed like the perfect solution to Mexico. He wouldn't be actually spending time with the Philippines, which would keep Texas happy. She would be able to do something interesting enough to satisfy her. Most importantly, Mexico would be able to gain vital information. Mexico was going to have to face Spain eventually, and having more information would just put him at more of an advantage.

Philippines looked to be considering the idea carefully, "Do you trust me to do it?" Mexico could see that his answer would be her indicator of if he was just attempting to brush her off. Accordingly, he said, "Of course I do. You are small and quiet enough to get around without getting noticed. But if someone takes notice, I know you won't hesitate to put a blade between their ribs." She smiled at the last part of the statement, which meant that Mexico had convinced her. She finally loosened her grip on his sword and looked way from his face, "I'm sorry for the trouble, but I will do this for you." Knowing that the discussion was now over, Mexico reached out and put his hand on the handle of the sword, which he then easily pulled out of Philippines' grasp. He placed it in the sheath at his hip before moving to put his hand on the girl's shoulder, "Piri, I trust you completely and I know you trust me. You will never stop being important to me." She finally smiled, and the smile was genuine, "Good luck today and I will see you when we both get back." With that, they parted ways.  
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Mexico leaned forward in his saddle, waiting for Allende to finish giving orders. The mortal had decided that a straight assault like the one Hidalgo had initially suggested would not be effective with the royalists so firmly entrenched in their positions. Instead, he had decided on a flanking approach, which would require splitting the forces into three. The idea was that the army, which was much larger than the royalist forces, would surround the smaller force. It was an excellent strategy, if it actually worked. The problem was yet again that the army hardly had the discipline to carry out a complicated strategy. Allende had attempted to lessen the disorder by appointing an officer to command each part of the army. At this point, all of the forces were in place and Allende was just quickly checking that everyone was clear on the strategy.

Mexico was impatient; he wanted the fighting to start. Allende finally appeared again out from between the trees. The mortal rode up so that he was next to his country. Mexico had not had a conversation with Allende since the mortal had sworn he would not fight alongside Hidalgo. Once they were even again, Mexico said, "Does this satisfy you, Ignacio? You finally get to lead like you always wanted to." Allende picked up on the tone, which was slightly critical, "I am grateful that you're giving me the chance to lead, especially since our last conversation went so badly. I have had time to think since then and I forgive you because you are young and reckless, but I do not forgive Miguel because he is far older and should know better."

Mexico did his best to ignore the morality in the statement. He had had more than enough of the feud between the two leaders. Instead, he responded to the first part of the statement, "You were right about one thing: Miguel is not a military man and it would be unwise to let him control the army during a real battle. You are much better suited to lead the troops here." Allende looked around quickly before looking back at Mexico, "There is nothing more we can do to prepare. We just have to hope that the men have some discipline for once. I shall signal for the troops to move. So, if you want to say something beforehand, you should say it now." Mexico thought for a second. He was anxious to get the battle started. So he said, "I have no reservations. Do you want me to stay back here with you?" The mortal responded with a simple nod, "I think that for now there is too much risk. You are injured already and there will be many casualties. Stay here for now."

Mexico kept himself from making any noise in response, although he would like to scoff. His leaders were almost paranoid in their protection of him. Considering how slowly he was healing, it was probably a good thing, but Mexico couldn't help feel that he had done very little to further the revolution. He had been on the sidelines of every battle and it was getting irritating. He had been shot by one clever soul who had actually waited for most of the blood shed to be over and then attempted to kill an officer. It was a pity that such guts had gone to waste.

Allende gave a signal and the troops began to surge forward towards the royalist position. Mexico's hands clenched upon the reigns so hard that his knuckles began to turn pale from loss of blood flow. There was a moment of pregnant silence where the charge seemed to move closer to the other army, which was just visible in the distance. Suddenly the calm October air was broken by the sound of cannons being fired in quick succession. The earth beneath the feet of the revolutionary army seemed to explode into showers of fire and clay. Mexico quickly inhaled out of excitement. He could smell gunpowder on the air as well as the underlying salt-iron scent of blood. This meant that the first casualties must have occurred.

Allende put his hand gently on Mexico's tensed hand, "Be patient, Alejandro. The cannons are a problem we have not encountered before, but you have to trust me." The sounds of battle continued to rise from the simple pounding of marching footsteps to one punctuated by the deep bellows of iron cannons and the occasional tinny shot of a musket, even though the armies were out of range of each other at the moment. Mexico desperately wanted to join the charge, but he had enough sense to keep his horse in place. The black stallion seemed to be just as anxious as his master. He continued to snort and paw at the ground. Mexico found himself wondering how the other two portions of the army were faring while fire rained down on the main body of troops.

The thick pine forest hid everything on the sides, which made it impossible to see the progress. The main armies were now clashing openly, with the obvious flashes of muskets firing off. Even from here, it was obvious which army was winning. The royalist army was holding its ranks while the insurgents were falling into disarray. Mexico saw that what he feared would happen was happening. Allende saw it too and swore under his breath, "Damn it all, they're going to retreat. I'm going to have to get them to regroup. As he said it, the situation became very clear. The revolutionary army was breaking ranks and turning now. They weren't able to handle the barrage of cannon fire coupled with the extraordinary defensive position of the other army. Within minutes, the retreat was pretty much consisted of the whole of the force.

They fell back to where they had started. In their wake, there was a trail of battered earth, pitted with metal projectiles. The ground was also covered in the blood and broken bodies of the fallen, far more of them ununiformed revolutionaries. The red of blood stood out strikingly against the green surroundings. The scene was as striking as it was disappointing. The first attempt at dislodging the royalist army had been a spectacular failure.

Mexico felt angrier than disappointed. This should be easy for him with all his military training, but the royalist army had easily thrown back a much larger force. He turned to Allende, whose hand had long since slipped off his own, "How's your confidence now, Ignacio? Can we salvage this?" He could see the worry playing across the soldier's face and knew that the mortal was realizing, as he was, that the situation was a good deal direr than initially anticipated. Allende, however, spoke with a kind of cool confidence, "We can still win, if we can keep the army busy while the other two flanks close around them. Once we have them surrounded, they will be forced to yield." Mexico saw the sense in the plan, but feared that the army wouldn't be able to pull it off.

Once the battered army returned, Allende rode off again. Mexico could easily hear the orders that the mortal was giving, "You need to hold your ground! Keep the troops in line. I don't care what you do to keep order, just do it!" Mexico smirked; he could see that there was definite desperation in Allende. The mortal returned to his original position in a huff. He gave the same gesture that had given to signal the first wave, but this time it was more emphatic.

Yet again, the army surged forward. This attempt seemed to have a little more order to it, with the troops marching forward in rows. Mexico glanced over at Allende, who was running his hands through his hair in a frustrated manner. As before, there was a couple seconds of silence before the cannon fire resumed. Mexico realized that he had started to stand up slightly in his stirrups, still wanting to get closer to the action. The stallion beneath him snorted and pawed aggressively at the ground. Mexico leaned forward and patted the horse on the neck and attempted to be soothing despite his own anxiousness.

Watching this attack was the same as watching the first wave. The charge was riddled with cannon fire. They managed to hold their ground for longer when they reached the main body of the royalist forces. But yet again, they broke and started retreating again. Yet again, Mexico felt his heart sink. Now he knew that he should have taken the time to stop and train the army. If they had any discipline at all, this would not be happening. The better-trained army, although it was smaller, was easily rebuffing all the attacks.

A single messenger rode up to Allende and said the one thing that actually brightened the situation; "The other flanks are now in place." Allende nodded. The main retreating army returned to their original spot. The smell of blood and gunpowder in the air was, at this point, undeniably thick in the air. As the men walked by, it became clear that massive damage was being done. A large portion of the men seemed to be at least slightly injured to some extent. Most seemed to be from flying metal created by the cannon balls. Even though there was so much carnage, Allende finally looked happy. It was most likely because he knew that the positioning of the troops would now allow him to win.

An unexpected guest interrupted his happiness; Hidalgo rode up to one side of Allende. He spoke, "This doesn't seem to be going well for you, Ignacio." Allende glared over at the priest, "You aren't supposed to be here, priest. This is my responsibility and I know what I am doing." The priest responded quickly, "If you know what you're doing, then why are you losing?" The other growled, "Do you have any suggestions that will actually help?" Mexico watched this confrontation with a good deal of interest. The clash between them could very much put the victory at risk. Hidalgo said, "Send a pair of messengers to the royalist general. You have him surrounded and have exhausted his troops with the first two charges. Negotiate his surrender."

The response was immediate, "That is so presumptuous of you. He doesn't see that he's surrounded and I will not compromise that information. In his eyes, he has easily pushed off what he sees as a rabble. He won't agree to anything." Mexico cut in, "I agree with Miguel, but we can't reveal that we have them surrounded, that could be critical information if he refuses." Allende responded grudgingly, "You always agree with him."

He glanced around and gestured to two uninjured men in the forefront of the army and said, "You two, you're officially emissaries now. Tell the general that we will accept his surrender." The two were quickly sent away with a pair of horses whose owners had been killed. Mexico wasn't sure what to expect. He had agreed to this because of the trust he had for Hidalgo, not because he was convinced it would work. He did know that Spanish arrogance very rarely yielded to reason, especially when it came to admitting defeat. He expected the messengers to be sent back with a flat refusal.

The silence dragged on as the thee of them waited for a response. The silence was broken by a pair of gunshots echoing up the valley. Mexico registered almost at once what had happened. He should have expected that the royalists would execute the messengers, but it made his blood boil all the same. It showed an utter lack of respect. Even the worst of enemies owed each other some respect when the met of the battlefield. Mexico saw no reason to restrain his temper, which was now boiling over. He would now put up with this kind of blatant disregard from the Spanish.

He registered in some part of his mind that Hidalgo and Allende were still arguing, but he no longer cared. He gently nudged his horse forward at what was a slow trot. He rode parallel to the lines of troops that had now reformed. He hadn't intended to start speaking. Indeed, it wasn't his style to be this intimate with mortals. He usually left this sort of rabble rousing to Hidalgo, but at the moment he was furious. His rage seemed to come out in the words he spoke, "That sound was our messengers being shot. The Spanish think we are not even worth a negotiation." At this point he paused, not entirely sure why he was even speaking. He looked out over the sea of people and all the eyes that were fixed on him. There was a communal sense of outrage and anger that fueled Mexico's own anger. Being the center of attention felt incredible, and the feeling convinced Mexico to continue his speech, "They see us as nothing more than an unorganized rabble. Let's show them how very wrong they are!"

His voice seemed to gain in strength as he spoke. His horse slowly picked up speed, slowly escalating to a gallop. There were shouts from the assembled men in encouragement. Mexico felt his heartbeat quicken, egged on by the feeling rising from the group. He said, "Let's make them pay for every drop of our blood they spilled! Let's show them that this is our land and no Spaniard will ever defeat us on it!" That was all he need say, the army started to surge forward again. Mexico turned his horse towards the enemy army and started to charge. He was quickly surrounded by the few other men that had horses. He could hear the sound of the men charging forward behind him.

The wind whipped his hair back off of his face and picked up the back of his coat. It was exhilarating, more so than just watching. Mexico felt invincible. The ground in front of him and to the right exploded as another cannon shot hit it, but Mexico kept control of his horse. The fire continued, but the true carnage didn't start until they were within musket range of the royalist army. Mexico saw that the front line was kneeling with a line of bayonets at the level that would easily take out a horse. The first volleys of musket fire seemed to miss Mexico and only graze a few people next to him. As he got closer to the line of bayonets, Mexico knew what he needed to do.

He urged the horse forward closer and closer and at the last moment, Mexico held on tightly and forced the horse to jump over the line of men. He easily cleared the danger without harming his stallion. Once inside, Mexico drew his sword and swung it to the side. It hit a foot solider in the neck, almost decapitating him. Blood sprayed from the neck across the flank of Mexico's horse. Mexico quickly looked around to assess if another retreat was about to happen. But, this time, righteous anger seemed to overrule any fear.

The royalist force was obviously overwhelmed by the force on all sides since the other parts of the army had charged when the main section had charged again. Each royalist solider was dealing with two or three enemies. This, in short, looked clearly like a victory. Mexico had one target left. He wanted to find the general. He sheathed his sword and quickly pulled out both of his pistols. This left him steering the horse with only his knees. He spotted one man in an officer's uniform. He was not the general, but the insignias on the uniform showed that he was a lieutenant. Mexico took aim at the man and fired one shot. The bullet hit the mortal in the middle of the back, which caused him to fall off the horse. Mexico didn't even bother to look to see if the man was dead.

He simply put the empty pistol back in the holster and kept moving forward. He soon caught sight of the general on a handsome brown horse in the middle of the battle. His face was pale and ashen. Obviously, he hadn't expected to be overwhelmed so suddenly. Mexico urged his horse forward. He aimed at the general's horse are fired a single shot. It hit exactly where it had been aimed. The man went down as his horse died beneath him. Mexico rode up to him and drew his sword. He dismounted the horse.

The general took a few seconds to pull himself back up. It appeared that he had injured his leg during the fall. When the mortal stood back up, Mexico put his sword to the man's throat, "So, do you surrender now, Spaniard?" The man nodded, seeming breathless. Mexico desperately wanted to kill the man now, just to make the point that he could destroy anyone he wanted to. He raised the sword to make the kill, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked over to see Allende with his hand on his shoulder. The mortal spoke, "He has surrendered. You've won the battle. Don't kill him." Mexico let the tension go out of his muscles, "He does deserve it though." Allende said in response, "Of course he does, but that isn't for you to do. Let him and his remaining forces retreat." Mexico still felt incredibly angry, but he backed down all the same. To stop the temptation to kill, he turned to walk away, "Fine, you deal with him then."

The general finally spoke, "You're that boy, the one that Spain is looking for." Mexico turned back around and looked at the man and responded, "Yes I am. Don't tell Antonio you saw me. My homecoming is going to be a little surprise for him." Mexico smirked and walked away, looking at the scenes of death and carnage around him.


	37. Chapter 37

Yet again Mexico paused and looked back at America, "You're being quiet. I must have said something horrifying." America found himself suddenly and inexplicably fascinated with his own left hand. He stared at it while he said, "I guess I don't know what to say. I like to let myself forget how fierce you really are. Hearing about you fighting just brings back the reality, that's all." Mexico smiled, "I'm not a sweet little kitten, Al. you've always known that. I shouldn't have to remind you."

America stood up and walked over to his lover, "If you're not a kitten, then why do you purr when I do this?" He put his hand behind Mexico's ear and rubbed softly. As he had predicted, Mexico made a slight sound of pleasure in his throat. The skin right behind Mexico's ear was incredibly sensitive, which was why he was reacting to such a light touch. He spoke anyway, "I'm a jaguar." America used a little piece of trivia he had picked up just for situations like this, "Big cats don't purr." At this point, Mexico pulled away from the hand. It was a lovely distraction, but Mexico had something very important to talk about and his emotions were not in the right place for anything sexual at the moment. Unlike most countries, aggression generally caused him to lose any sort of sexual desire simply because Mexico became so fixated on whatever he was angry at.

Mexico turned to face his lover and said, "Go sit back down. You don't get the rest of the story if you keep distracting me." America sighed and dutifully walked back over to the bed and sat down, "Fine, Alejandro. What happened next?" Mexico started to clench and unclench his hands, but his tone remained calm, "Well, I finally faced Antonio. I can comfortably say that he didn't see it coming."  
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Philippines leaned forward and put her elbows on the part of the table not covered by a map, "Mexico City is very heavily protected. The Spaniards pretty much left no weaknesses." She looked directly at Mexico, "You're going to need a minor miracle to take the city." Mexico took the information lightly, he had already suspected as much. Spain was no fool, he knew exactly where troops would do the most good. Mexico had heard whispers that there was rebellion rising in the other colonies, but it was perfectly clear that Spain's full attention was here.

Mexico had already figured out how to make it at least plausible that the revolutionary army could take the city. The Spanish army drew all of its power and organization almost directly from Spain. If Mexico could take out Spain, then there was a chance that the city could be taken and the revolution could be won. He turned to Hidalgo, who was also party to this discussion. The priest took the cue, "After the losses we took last battle, our ability to win is a bit questionable." Mexico finally felt that it was time to reveal his plan. He took a deep breath to brace himself before saying, "You have a chance if Antonio is out of the way." Philippines understood the statement perfectly at once. Her eyes widened and she said, "No! You can't fight him one on one." Mexico raised his eyebrow, "Piri, you know that I know how to handle myself. The plan has always been that I would fight Antonio." She stood the rest of the way up and looked him directly in the eyes. He could see that she was deeply concerned, which was touching. The words were deliberate, "You said you'd fight him. You never said you would fight him alone with no reinforcements and no escape. What if he wins? How will you get out?"

Mexico didn't let himself think about defeat, because thinking about it would make it more likely. Confidence would be key and thinking about defeat would just undermine that confidence. His response was careful, "Why can't you just trust me? I will be able to find a way out if I need one." Hidalgo cut in at this point, "Make sure you have a way out. We can't lose you, especially after you proved yourself in the last battle." Mexico had expected this from one of them, but this sort of protectiveness from both was a bit disheartening. It was quite clear that none actually trusted him to fight. Spain was out of practice when it came to one-on-one fighting, whereas, Mexico was sharper than he had ever been or probably ever would be. The odds were in Mexico's favor. He would not let the doubt from everyone else get in his way. Mexico was very confident in his own abilities, confident enough to face off against a Spaniard who would be in a very emotionally unstable state. More importantly, facing Spain now would be the only way to truly see the emotions tearing Spain apart, which was, of course, the entire point. Mexico would get his revenge then and there just by seeing the look on Spain's face.

As it was, he had to change the subject, "I'm leaving part of the discretion in implementing the plan to you, Miguel. It would be wise to wait until I get back, but you can attack whenever you deem it to be the most effective." Philippines slammed her hand into the table; obviously frustrated with the way he had brushed her off, "All the confidence in the world won't save you if Spain gets the upper hand! What do we do if you don't come back?" Mexico only grudgingly gave her a response, "If I am not back by tomorrow, then I expect you and Diego to continue on and do whatever you can. Antonio won't be able to destroy me, I know it." Philippines looked like she wanted to say something else, but she swallowed the comment. She glared at him one more time before turning and leaving the room.

Once she was gone, Hidalgo spoke directly to Mexico, "Are you sure you can handle this? You are still injured, are you not?" Mexico put his hand on his ribs, directly on top of the spot where the bullet had ripped through his skin. The wound had scabbed over well and had almost completely stopped hurting. It was most likely not going to be a problem. Although he understood the fatherly concern, it irked him a bit to be fussed over like a child. He said, "I'm sure I can take whatever Antonio throws at me. My injury is not going to stop me." The priest responded with a slight nod, "I know I cannot stop you from doing this. But, you need to keep your mind clearly on your goal. You need to do this for your own freedom, not because you want to fulfill your own vendetta." Mexico sighed; he found the lecture somewhat boring because he had heard it over and over again. He wouldn't deny the fact that he wanted some sort of payback; it had consumed his mind for so long that he was not going to abandon it. This was about more than just the fight or the victory or even the freedom. It had always been and always been about Spain's reaction. It might be vendetta to want to have Antonio know exactly what it felt like to lose someone precious to him, but that hardly meant that Mexico was going to change his plans. He simply said, "I will keep that in mind. My intentions will be as pure as possible." Hidalgo looked back down at the map for a second and seemed to be mulling over something very important. When he looked back up, he simply said, "I trust you will. Our success will rest entirely on your victory."  
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Mexico had found it very easy to sneak back into his own home, as heavily guarded as it was. He knew every back street that the Spanish failed to guard. The feeling inside the house had changed dramatically: it was frantic and stressed. Mexico couldn't be entirely sure if the change reflected his own feelings or those of Spain. More likely, it reflected Spain because at the moment Mexico felt strangely calm and confident. Either way, it would add to the tension well. Mexico entered the house using the balcony that was connected to the room that he and Spain had usually shared dinner; it seemed the most likely place to find the Spaniard, especially this early in the morning.

He had just opened the door to the balcony when he heard a familiar voice, "How could you have been so idiotic? You should have perused after the first retreat and put an end to that priest and his farce of a revolution!" Mexico smirked; Spain must be talking to the general who had failed last battle. The frustration was evident in his voice. Spain was realizing now that everything he had taken for granted was slipping out of his control. That was the perfect situation for Mexico to make his move. If Spain was frustrated and confused, his skill with a sword would decrease dramatically. Spain got no response from the man, so he continued to talk, "And most importantly, you would have been able to find Alejandro. I know he must be out there somewhere. God knows what he's gone through because I couldn't be here to protect him." This moment would prove if the general had been scared enough to keep the secret about having seen the boy. Mexico hoped that the power of terror would keep his tongue-tied. His hope seemed fulfilled when the mortal man continued to remain silent. Spain seemed to get even angrier, "Get out of my sight if you aren't going to tell me anything useful." There was the sound of someone scrambling to his feet and then the slamming of a door.

Mexico took this to mean that Spain was now alone. He walked over to the balcony doors and silently opened one of them the rest of the way. The white curtain that had covered the window whipped inward, carried by a slight wind from the outside. Mexico saw that Spain now had his back to the window. The table was covered in assorted dishes that held several different nearly uneaten breakfast foods. One of Spain's hands was holding firmly onto a glass of red wine. The Spaniard spoke to himself with a good deal of anguish, "Why is this happening to me?" Mexico seized his opportunity to make a dramatic entrance. He answered Spain's rhetorical question, "It may be because you are an arrogant fool who only sees what he wants to." As expected, Spain recognized the voice and quickly turned around. Their eyes locked and Mexico could swear that he saw a pure kind of relief well up in the other's green eyes. In fact, he looked close to shedding happy tears. His relief was so great that Spain didn't even seem to comprehend the words Mexico had spoken.

He spoke and his voice was choked with emotion, "I was so worried about you. When you weren't here at my arrival, I thought the worst. But now we can be just like we were." Spain took a couple quick steps forward to close the space between them. Mexico thought about taking a step backwards; the proximity was making him uncomfortable. But he held his ground in order to give Spain a false sense of hope. As Mexico expected, the European reached out to put his hand on the younger man's face, "You will always be mine, my little Aztec boy." At precisely the right moment, Mexico raised his hand and forcefully intercepted the hand. The result was that the hand was slapped away with an audible sound. He looked Spain deliberately in the eyes, "Don't touch me."

Spain's eyes widened as though he couldn't quite understand the situation. He managed a single word, "What?" Mexico knew that his timing had had the intended effect. Spain was completely confused now. Mexico took a step to the side to get farther away from Spain, speaking as he did so, "Oh, was I supposed to play submissive? Was I supposed to give in to your desires? Sorry, but I'm sick of those games." He let his voice drop into the more sinister tone that used to indicate he was letting his dark side out. Now, there was no need to hide his Aztec born side. In the past month, it had become his reality. It felt better to live life without the façade, without the lies. It was a tone that Spain had never heard, which became even more obvious when he responded, "There is something very different about your voice." Mexico laughed, a deep resounding laugh with a sinister undertone, "You don't know me, not really. You believed what I wanted you to believe. This is how my voice has always sounded when I am myself."

Suddenly, something seemed to click in Spain's mind. He spoke through clenched teeth, "What did that priest do to you?" Mexico continued to walk, making a slow circle around Spain, who was turning to keep an eye on him. It was not unlike a jaguar slowly closing in on its prey. Mexico had expected that the conversation would very soon change to the revolution and as he had predicted to Philippines a month ago, Spain was blaming Hidalgo. Mexico was quick to correct this, "Miguel? He did nothing I didn't ask for. I engineered this revolution." The Spaniard's hands slowly curled into fists, as another realization seemed to hit him, "You're on a first name basis with that corrupt man?" Mexico could see the gears churning inside of Spain's head. The confusion was evident. He had not yet reached the ultimate conclusion that would devastate him, but it was close.

Mexico kept his response short "Naturally I am. But this isn't about him. This is about you and me." Spain looked like he had been hit by a heavy blow that had knocked the air out of him. For once, he seemed entirely unable to come up with a response, so he changed the subject again, grasping at something that he could prove he was right about, "The things Francis said you did, they are lies, aren't they?" Now, Mexico knew he could destroy Spain completely. This topic was one that he knew Spain wanted to be right about. The only thing Spain had ever desperately hoped for was that he controlled the Aztec boy and was the only one who would ever lay claim to his body. Spain's heart was absolutely sure that Mexico was still a virgin, completely untouched by anyone else. To this, Mexico had a response that would finally crush that assertion. He rested one hand on the handle of his sword, which entailed brushing his coat back so that the sword was finally visible to Spain. This was a very deliberate gesture; it would show Spain that Mexico was perfectly willing to make this conversation into a fight. It was not lost on the European, whose eyes quickly flitted to the sword and then back to Mexico's face.

Once the effect of the gesture was clear, the Aztec boy said, "You Europeans are so confident in yourself, it's funny and pathetic. France thought he was good enough to enthrall me. You thought you could control me. But, I will give you the truth. I let Francis have a taste because he was useful to me, but he never seduced me. No more than you ever controlled my heart or my brain." The other was quick to respond this time. His expression changed from confusion to anger, "You're loyal to me! You said so, right here in this room!" Mexico loosened the sword in the sheath, but he did so subtly. He was now measuring the space between himself and Spain. He had shattered the man's heart, and now the fight was almost inevitable.

Of course, Mexico needed to urge this forward to a fight. At this point, he expected to feel a deep sense of satisfaction at seeing Spain feel the pain he had felt so long ago. This revenge was supposed to lift the weight off of him, fill the hole in his heart, but it wasn't happening. The hate was still there. Looking at Spain still made Mexico feel irrationally angry and sick at the same time. The only thing the heartbreak in the green eyes made him feel was a shallow satisfaction that his plans had finally come to fruition. Mexico let the emotion sit for a second before he said with something that was supposed to be a sweet smile, "I lied."

Spain had begun to take steps to the side so he was tracing the same circle that Mexico was walking. He didn't seem aware of it, as if it was a reflex developed through years of fighting enemies. His voice shook as he said, with the last of his desperation; "I can forgive you for that. It isn't too late for you to come back to Madrid with me. Let's have the life we deserve." The last word struck Mexico the wrong way. It made his blood boil to think that Spain deserved the happy little fairy tale that imperial life had been. He only deserved death, and a painful death at that. If anything, it should be more painful than the death that the Aztec empire had endured, that was only fair.

Mexico kept his expression well hidden, if Spain knew he had been successful in provoking Mexico, he may use it to his advantage. Instead he said in a tone that was intentionally flat, "The life you deserve? I will give you what you deserve." As quickly as he could, Mexico grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled the blade out of the sheath. In one motion, he swung the sword upward, intent on hitting Spain. The Spaniard grabbed a knife from the table and was barely able to block the swing. The blades hit each other with surprising force, the sound of it echoed down through the room. It was all Spain could do to keep his grip on the knife. The European man was wearing a sword at his hip, but he hadn't drawn it. This was extremely telling. Not drawing the sword meant that Spain was still refusing to see this as a true fight. For him, this was still an intervention to bring Mexico back to his senses.

Their eyes met, green and gold, hate and confusion. Mexico put more strength into the sword, which caused the blades to rattle together. Spain spoke again, "Put that down now, Alejandro. I don't want to hurt you and you don't know how to use that blade." Mexico smirked and said back, "Oh don't I?" He shifted the blade so that the hilt was right up against the hilt of the knife. Then, he moved the sword upward so that the knife went flying. Mexico then lowered his sword so that the tip was just in front of Spain's throat.

In the distance, a sound was swelling. Spain heard it and desperately looked around. Mexico recognized the sound; it was a call to arms, which meant that Hidalgo had decided to attack now. The sound only worked to reinforce Mexico's message that everything was changing now. This situation was more than serious; it was pivotal. To taunt Spain, he said, "Do you hear that? That's the sound of your reign ending. Now draw your sword and face me like a man or I will cut you down like a dog." Spain put his hand on the hilt of his own sword, but he didn't draw it, "You wouldn't do that to me, after all I have given you, after all we have shared. If you would, then I have lost you." Mexico had expected as much from Spain. Even with all the information telling him that Mexico had turned traitor, he was still denying it and attempting to remedy the situation. The Aztec boy laughed, "You truly don't get it," He swung again and this time Spain was forced to block with his own sword. Mexico snarled, speaking over the interlocked swords, "I was never yours to lose."

They both broke the lock between their swords to free the weapons for the next move. Mexico was already mad, but he kept his mind clear. If there was one thing about fighting that Portugal had taught him, it was that emotion was detrimental during a fight. Getting truly enraged would do nothing to improve Mexico's chances, so his best strategy was to remain calm. Spain was obviously attempting and failing to do the same. His voice shook slightly as he raised the sword into a defensive position and said, "I don't want to fight you, Alejandro." Mexico gritted his teeth attempting to not show his emotion. The denials had been entertaining at first, but now they were just annoying. If possible, Mexico's voice got even colder, "That's really a pity because I want you dead."

With that, he lunged forward and swung again, this time getting much closer to Spain. This forced the European to take a step back as he parried. The stroke was deflected, but Spain made no move to counter-attack. Mexico growled in his throat, frustrated by the fact that he couldn't provoke a response, he shifted from one attack to another, which came across Spain's chest in a silver ark. This one was even harder for the Spaniard to deflect since it was such a quick forceful blow. He took a quick step backwards to adjust. Mexico spoke again, "Fight me, you spineless bastard!" With that, he took a step forward and brought down a hard overhand stroke that would, if on target, hit Spain directly in the head. Spain quickly moved to block the blow. The swords collided with a metallic crash. They were yet again stuck in a deadlock, with both of them holding onto their swords with both hands and they swords were over their heads.

Spain's eyes locked on Mexico's. He spoke with some measure of control, "Your moves are good. But, I know this isn't who you are. You aren't a revolutionary." Spain spat out the last word like it was poisonous. Naturally, it was a word that Spain hated with all his heart because the person branded with that title had the power to bring him down. Mexico leaned forward so he was even closer to his colonizer, "You don't know anything about me." Spain's eyes slowly drifted down to something that Mexico had failed to notice. When he had leaned forward, the pendant of Aztec gold had swung forward out of his shirt, so it was now highly visible. This was what Spain's eyes were now fixed on and his expression slowly shifted from shock to anger. When he finally looked back up at the Aztec boy, he spoke through clenched teeth, "How dare you wear that in front of me? I see now: you are corrupted, even after all I've done for you!"

Mexico had not expected the anger, but was pleased that he had done something to elicit it all the same. This simple piece of gold seemed to have finally made it clear to Spain that he had to fight back. All the same, Mexico felt the need to respond with a biting comment, "I dare because I would rather be the bitter truth than a sweet lie. No matter what you think you did, the truth is that I will always be my mother's son." Spain put more force into the sword, but this time used it to push to the side so that the swords broke apart.

Mexico took a half step backwards to give himself room to maneuver. Spain carefully changed his position so that it was now more offensive and spoke again, "I am going to tear that pendant away from you and then you will remember who you really are and this insanity will end." Mexico tensed his muscles, ready to attack or block depending on the other's move, "I would love to see you try, old man." For the first time, Spain lunged forward. The attack was far faster than anything Mexico had dealt with when practicing with Portugal or Brazil. His reflexes were quick enough that he was able to bring the sword around in time to deflect Spain's blow, which would have slashed across his shoulder, had it made contact. The Spaniard hardly missed a beat. He switched his aim to come across the other's chest. It would be a glancing blow, but the slash that the blade would leave would be enough to disable Mexico. That was, as far as Mexico could tell, Spain's plan now. He meant to cause enough damage to incapacitate the Aztec boy so he could bring his back to Madrid and fully exert his control again. Mexico was yet again able to deflect the strike, but he noticed that he was taking small steps backwards so that he was getting slowly farther away from the table.

He had never truly seen Spain let loose, and this was more than he had bargained for. A third strike came hard and fast from a slightly different angle, and yet again Mexico was able to block. Spain's green eyes were now alight with a manic kind of fire, as though he was finding some sort of pleasure in the sound of the swords clashing. The Spaniard now smirked, "Is this what you wanted? Can you handle it?" Mexico growled, more angered by the taunt than he should be. He was supposed to be good at fighting, but Spain was slowly beating him back. He decided that this was not the time to be honorable, if he wanted to win; Mexico was going to have to fight dirty.

When the next strike came, he intentionally blocked it very near to the hilt so that the hilts of the swords were very close together. Mexico leaned into the sword, which made it harder for Spain to free the sword for another attack. Once he had proximity, he drove a knee upward and caught the Spaniard in the stomach. It wasn't exactly what he had been aiming for, but the immediate effect was enough. The blow knocked the breathe out of Spain, which was enough for him to need a couple seconds to recover. Naturally, Mexico didn't give him that much time.

Once Spain's sword dropped, Mexico used his free hand to smack the Spaniard across the face. As the European man took a couple uncoordinated steps backwards, stunned by the blow, Mexico spun and was able to bring his sword quickly across the back of Spain's hand and arm. The slash was quick and, thus, very shallow. All the same, it made Spain hiss between his teeth in pain. Mexico took a couple steps so that he was on the other side of Spain. The other turned quickly and raised his sword again. Spain held the blade steady despite the pain that he was undoubtedly feeling from the injury. The Spaniard was quite beyond words. The blood had made him even angrier, so he was now completely enraged. Spain swung again and was able to hit again and again in quick succession. However, it was slower now, which made it easier for Mexico to block each stroke.

Slowly, Mexico was able to take the offensive, responding to every attack with one of his own. It looked to be a stalemate, but Mexico could see that Spain's hands were shaking now. He felt confident enough to smirk at Spain. He knew that if the Spaniard continued to weaken; he could easily defeat the Spaniard. If he could just get around Spain again, he would be able to win this fight. He would be able to put his blade to Spain's back, which would give him access to the vital organs. From the front, it was very unlikely that he would hit anything with Spain aggressively blocking. It would be a risky move, moving would break the concentration he was using on the sword fight. However, confidence took over and Mexico decided to go for it.

He took a quick side step. Spain recognized the move for what it was and quickly attempted to counter. He brought his sword down in an n arch over his head. Mexico blocked upward but continued to move in a circle. However, Spain had a second strike that was more effective. He used his free arm to throw an elbow that managed to hit Mexico across the side of the ribs. Spain was definitely not aiming for the bullet wound, since he did not know of its existence, but he managed to bring the point of his elbow across the wound. It sent a spike of pain up Mexico's side, which was enough to cause him to falter. The wound was on the same side as his sword hand, which meant that the shooting pain also caused him to loosen his grip on the sword.

Spain took the opportunity. He brought the hilt of his sword down on Mexico's hand, which caused the Aztec boy to lose his grip on his sword. The blade fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Mexico didn't have time to try to pick the weapon back up; Spain made a quick move. He grabbed Mexico by the shoulder with his free hand, his thumb digging into the hollow above the collar bone, and swung him around in a half-circle, and then slammed him against the table. Mexico's back hit the table, smashing into at least one plate. The rest of the dishes went flying. Mexico put his hand out on instinct and knocked over the glass of red wine, which spilt over the surface of the table like blood. Mexico could feel the liquid seeping into the back of his jacket. Mexico quickly exhaled as the breath was knocked out of him.

Spain pinned the boy to the table using his bleeding arm across Mexico's shoulders. With the other hand, he raised his sword and placed the point against the boy's chest. Mexico knew he had lost now; his split second weakness had given Spain the invaluable upper hand. Now Spain had him completely trapped. But, he had to get out of this situation, he had promised Philippines that he would come back and he needed to make good on her promise to her. She was one of the few people he could never let down. He needed an opportunity, but he didn't see one right now.

Spain finally spoke, "Be still. You are at my mercy. Defy me again and I will run you through." Mexico sensed that this statement was little more than bravado; Spain cared far too much to actually kill him. Even with the conquistador in control, Spain still loved Mexico far too much to kill him. Mexico pushed up against the arm and snarled, "Go ahead. Kill me. Right here, right now, just like you murdered my mother."

The blood drained out of Spain's face. He spoke in a voice devoid of all the distinctive conquistador confidence, "You knew I killed her?" Mexico responded, "Of course, I have always known what you did. You stole my family away from me, you fucking bastard." Spain's hand started to shake. Guilt bubbled up in the green eyes. Mexico saw his opportunity; Spain was distracted by his own guilt, which meant that he could be taken down. The Aztec boy subtly moved his legs so that one was on either side of Spain's. The Spaniard spoke again, "I'm sorry, I have paid for that my entire life. I tried to make it better for you."

Mexico scoffed, "Is that supposed to make it better? I will always hate you, no matter what you do. My heart is treasonous, so kill me, if you have the balls." Spain raised the sword as if he was about to drive it through the other's chest, but he couldn't actually make the movement. It was quite obvious that Spain was trying to figure out the best thing to do, he wanted to have a clear victory and a way to incapacitate Mexico without actually causing that much pain. But, the Aztec boy finally saw his opportunity, "You're sentimental and weak, and I've outgrown you."

With that, he scissored his legs, which meant they came together right at Spain's knees. This caused Spain to lose balance and fall. Mexico simply watched as Spain fell and his head first hit the edge of the table and then the floor. The blows knocked the Spaniard unconscious. Once he was sure Spain was out, Mexico straightened up, "That's what you get when you hesitate." A small puddle of blood was forming under Spain's head, which was all the more satisfying to Mexico. More than anything, Mexico was incredibly mad at the fact that his pride had been so thoroughly crushed by Spain's skill, so it felt much better to see Spain bleeding on the floor.

Mexico could hardly think over what was now a blinding pain in his side. He brushed back his coat to look at his side. The wound had split open and was now bleeding through the bandage and a red spot was now forming on his shirt. He knew he had lost and now needed to make an escape. He picked up his sword from the floor; this was the last thing he wanted to leave with Spain.

He had one last thought that would be a cruel sign to Spain when he woke up. Mexico took off his jacket, which was still dripping with wine and stained with blood and took it over to the only chair still at the table, the one that Mexico had usually occupied when they had dinner together, and hung the jacket over the back of it. After that Mexico walked back to where Spain was laying and he kneeled down next to the unconscious man. He reached out and stroked Spain's face, "I will see you again, Tony. And the next time, I will kill you." With that, Mexico stood up and left, still clutching his bleeding side.


	38. Chapter 38

Mexico took a deep breath. He had been talking very quickly for the last few minutes while he had been describing his fight with Spain. His hands were clenched firmly into fists because of his anger, which was coming back in caustic waves. America didn't speak. He hardly knew what to say. Any commentary on such a critical moment in Mexico's life just wouldn't sound right. So, America held his tongue, despite the fact that he wanted to console his lover.

Mexico started to breathe more deeply and tried to distance himself from the past. He understood the power in his voice and the impact that the story must have had on America. Mexico addressed this, "You may speak, Alfred. I won't hate you for it." America struggled with his words, "I don't know what to feel. I suppose I should just let you keep telling your story. What did it mean when you lost?" Mexico let out a long breathe before saying, "It meant more than just my loss. Miguel stopped the forward momentum just outside of the city as soon as I returned. It is possible that the revolution could have been won right then if not for my weakness. The city was not as well defended as we had initially thought."

America heard a dismissal in the answer, "But what about you? What did it mean to you that you couldn't beat Spain?" Mexico's demeanor shifted and America became aware a half second too late that the question might have not been the most tasteful. Mexico responded, "I would say that I was humbled, but we both know that isn't true. It reinforced that I needed to be underhanded. Trying to fight honorably had nearly gotten me killed, and that wasn't worth it. Emotionally I was shaken though."  
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No one had dared talk to Mexico since he had returned, sullen and bleeding. He had had a very short conversation with Hidalgo and Allende about what had happened with Spain. He had let the mortals dictate the next strategy because he was too drained to think. Allende proposed that a little reorganization would allow them to take the city. Hidalgo, however, was insisting on a retreat. Mexico had a feeling that the retreat was due to the fact that he was injured and drained. He knew that Hidalgo was worried about him and an attempt on the city would most likely result in Mexico fighting again, which would risk more injury. Mexico didn't disagree with Hidalgo, despite his usually aggressive nature. He was shaken and he admitted it, another battle was not something he was prepared to do. Allende, as usual, complained about no one backing him up, but he eventually submitted.

Once that was decided and over, Mexico retreated to a room by himself. Texas quickly and silently bandaged the wound on his side again and then left his brother alone. For a time, Mexico did nothing but stood at the window looking out. He was still attempting to organize the confrontation with Spain in his mind. What bothered him the most was that he had been winning and Spain had simply gotten in a lucky shot. It wasn't really that Mexico had been lacking skill; in fact, he had been winning at the end.

He put his hand down on the windowsill and started to drum his fingers nervously. Looking out at the lights of his capital was like a burning insult. Had he not made one reckless mistake, that entire city would be his home once again. There was no excuse for his weakness other than stupid youthful confidence. Had he just kept on the strict offensive, he would have eventually worn down Spain, whose arm had obviously been weakening. If that had happened, the army would have been able to take the city and this entire war would be won by now.

Mexico looked down at his own hand; it was more comforting than looking out of the window. The good news was that the pain in his side was now a dull throb. Other than the scrape across his side, Mexico's injuries were really quite minimal. He had a few bruises, but aside from that he was physical damage. It was pretty clear that the biggest damage had been to his ego. Mexico turned away from the window and started to walk across the room.

He caught sight of himself in a small mirror that was mounted on the wall. He still had a handsome elegance, but there was something different in his face. He looked exhausted. His cheeks were lacking color and he had black circles forming under his eyes. How emotionally drained he felt was reading all over his face, which explained why everyone was shying away from him. It would have been smart to get some sleep, but he knew that sleep would not come to him now. He was too anxious. He knew that if he even closed his eyes, all he would think about was his fight with Spain. He would visualize every move that had been made and fixate upon it. The frustration of defeat would be, if possible, even more potent than it was now. So, he would not even attempt to sleep tonight, despite how tired he looked.

After the short period of contemplation at the mirror, Mexico continued to walk out of the room. Being inside suddenly felt stifling. He wanted to feel air moving over his skin. He wanted to stand in the moonlight and look at the stars. They sky made him feel a sense of freedom and he desperately needed that right now. So, without much deliberation, he walked out of the room. The lodgings were the usual crude one floor building. Before Mexico sprawled the camp that housed what remained of the army. Still the force was large enough that the night was bright, dotted with fires that burned outside of tents. In some ways, it was magnificence to see the scale of it, the grand majesty of an army that was capable of taking up so much room. But a closer examination showed what Allende had always said and Mexico now saw. These men were not soldiers. Some of them had been hardened by the recent battles, but all the same, they were peasants and farmers who had dared to pick up a gun or a scythe, or whatever else they could to fight the people they saw as oppressive. They had been able to win thus far. But now Mexico found himself wondering if it was only due to sheer force of numbers. All the doubts he had never allowed himself to have before began to surface. The defeat at Spain's hands had shaken his confidence and now he was finally seeing all the truths he had blinded himself to.

It did nothing to lift his spirits, which were low enough already. The light of the many fires lit in the area made it nearly impossible to see the stars, which were hidden behind a thin bank of clouds. Mexico felt himself slowly accepting the fact that nothing was going to make him feel better tonight. Right after he lighted on that discouraging thought, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

He spun around to face a very familiar priest. He had already had a conversation with Hidalgo today involving strategy, but that had been business. Already, the atmosphere felt different. It felt strangely like the first time they had met so long ago. This feeling was compounded when the priest finally spoke, "You seem to be upset tonight. Can we talk?" Mexico shrugged, but on the inside he was relieved. It had not occurred to him to voice his concerns to anyone else, but now it seemed obvious. On all the occasions thus far, opening up to Hidalgo had always made him feel better. So, the obvious answer was, "Yes, of course."

There was no one around that would pay attention to the conversation, so there was no need to go somewhere more private. Mexico allowed the other to start the conversation, which he soon did, "What is bothering you? Is it Ignacio?" Mexico took a deep breath before he started to talk. His emotional walls always seemed to come down under Hidalgo's gaze. He found himself recounting every detail of the fight. He cringed when he got to some of the dialogue because he knew it went directly against what Hidalgo had told him about vengeance. When he got to the end, he started to clench his hands in an agitated manner. He finished with a statement spoken through his clenched teeth, "I should have won that fight. I made one stupid move and I lost."

Hidalgo, as he had on past occasions, stayed quiet and simply listened as Mexico talked. This silence was part of the reason his presence was so calming to Mexico, he didn't comment on anything despite the parts that had gone against his advice. Only when he was certain that his country was done talking, did the priest make a response. Mexico couldn't read the emotions in the mortal's eyes and it was disconcerting. He at least wanted some sort of conformation of the response he expected. Mexico was thoroughly ready for some sort of rebuke for his reckless vendetta. However, Hidalgo seemed to see that a lecture while the Aztec boy was in the current emotional state wouldn't be effective. He said simply, "You did everything you could. Spain simply got in a lucky blow that disabled you."

Mexico sighed and looked down at his own feet. He still felt he had not properly voiced his own concern, so he said it much more bluntly, "But it made me feel like none of this is right. I don't feel like I am ready for any of it." He gestured around desperately in an attempt to convey the meaning. He added, "I just think that Ignacio may be right." Hidalgo knowingly reached out and put his hand on Mexico's shoulder. The contact made him look back up and straight into the priest's eyes. Hidalgo spoke, "Don't let Allende's doubts get to you. You are perfectly capable of winning your freedom." Mexico scoffed, but didn't pull away from the comfortingly warm hand on his shoulder, "If I am, then why did you advocate for a retreat. I agreed because I think I need time to learn and recover before I face Antonio again."

Hidalgo responded at once, while putting his other hand on Mexico's other shoulder, "Exactly because of this. That loss affected you. I can't watch you fall again. You mean more to me than this entire revolution. I fear that one more battle will destroy you, so I want to pull back before you physically and mentally injure yourself further." Mexico felt entirely lost for words. There was a deep feeling and commitment in the honest statement. It was entirely different from the concern that Spain had said he had so many times. This was genuine and pure that it started to warm him even with how depressed he was feeling tonight. But, the words did nothing to lift his confidence. Mexico didn't doubt his own skills with a weapon, he had held his own against Spain. But he doubted his ability to lead and win the revolution. Hidalgo seemed to read this from Mexico's face.

He took a different tact, "I know you are worried about what Ignacio has been saying about our army. But I need to remind you of something." The priest released Mexico's shoulders and took a couple steps away. He made a wide sweeping gesture that indicated that he was speaking about the entirety of the army behind him, "These may not be hardened soldiers. But these are the men who are willing to die for you. They don't even know you exist and they are willing to die for the idea of you. That is the kind of loyalty very few mortal men could ever dream of having." There was something fantastically enthralling in the statement that resonated with Mexico; it worked to ease the doubt he was feeling. He had not thought of what these men were willing to give up to fight for him. Hidalgo continued in the same manner, "You may not believe in yourself at this moment. But I will tell you the most important thing: They believe in you and so do I. You have to remember that and you will never be lost. You are a country and the faith of your people should be your strength." Mexico felt himself start to smile. The words actually worked this time. He naturally didn't feel as confident as he had before, but the doubt he had been feeling had been eased.

He spoke, "You're right, as usual. I shouldn't be worried. Antonio didn't best me with skill; he bested me with luck. I don't know what I would do if I didn't have you to confide in." Hidalgo took a step back towards Mexico; his expression had changed to something that was more somber, "Don't say that. I wish I could be here for you eternally, but I can't. I hope I can live much longer and see you grow into the country you are meant to be. But you have to face the fact that I am mortal and you are not." The other attempted to find words to respond to this, but failed. He had taken it to be a given that Hidalgo would be a constant after the revolution succeeded.

Just as he didn't contemplate his own failure, Mexico didn't think of the death of the people he cared about. If he simply ignored the possibility, it felt like he could will it to not happen. Hidalgo continued, "For those of us who can only live one lifetime, the legacy we leave is more important than the minute details of our lives. I trust that once I am gone, you will never let history forget me or how much I believe in you." Mexico simply nodded and said, "Of course I won't forget you. You've made everything possible for me." The priest put his hand on Mexico's shoulder again, "I'm glad. Now you should get some sleep. You look exhausted. I fear we will have to fight again very soon, and you will need your strength."


	39. Chapter 39

Mexico continued, "Miguel was, of course, right. I couldn't escape Antonio's wrath, especially not when he knew what I was. I had awoken the conquistador in Antonio and he wouldn't rest until he had me safely back under his thumb. I also have a sneaking suspicion that he found me more attractive when I was defiant." America was staring at the other's back, and attempting to decide whether he should say something that was weighing on his mind. As usual, he came to the conclusion that he couldn't stop himself from saying something, "I may not know Spain as well as you do, but I have to correct you. Spain was crushed."

Mexico turned around swiftly, ready for a confrontation. This was his story and he wasn't going to put up with corrections to his version of events. He looked at America, who looked like he wanted to back down, and said, "How would you know anything about it?" America looked his lover in the eyes, unwavering, and said, "I had an argument with Romano about you. He was telling me that you are callous and cruel." Mexico scoffed, "Of course he did. Lovino still seems to be mad at me for leading his Antonio on, as if Tony ever saw him before I rebelled." America didn't like to be interrupted, but he continued on, "Anyway, to convince me of that, he told me about the night after you first confronted Spain. Did you know that Romano was there? He apparently came with Spain to provide moral support. He said he found Spain hugging your jacket and sobbing."

The American wasn't sure what kind of reaction he was expecting, but he was surprised that Mexico barely seemed to care, "Good, I expected he would use that jacket to remember me. But, I assure you he went from upset to homicidal in a matter of hours. That's his nature. It won't take much for me to convince you that Antonio is really the cruel one." America decided not to press the point further; he knew that Mexico wasn't going to admit he might be in the wrong. The other continued, "As I was saying, Antonio was determined to get me back. He took his own advice and used the whole of his army to pursue after the retreat. I won't bore you with the battles; I'll just say that Antonio was able to win again and again. We fell back to Calderon Bridge. That battle was a turning point."

Mexico was once again stuck between Hidalgo and Allende; they were occupying a tent a couple of miles away from the river. There was a constant rushing sound in the background of the conversation. Mexico found it easier to listen to the river than the argument that was unfolding in front of him. He had a pounding migraine and he knew exactly why. When the revolutionary cause had been enjoying a run of victories, Mexico had personally agreed with the majority of the feeling and he had been able to minimalize the loyalist feeling. Now, there was growing loyalist fervor, and it was tormenting Mexico.

The conversation between the mortals was practically the same one that had been going on for the whole of the revolution. Allende was claiming that the recent defeats were proof that Hidalgo should not be leading an army. Hidalgo was countering by saying that the defeats could not have been avoided; the Spanish army had been attacking them during retreat. He insisted that this was the place to stand their ground and begin pushing back. Mexico knew that he was supposed to be breaking the deadlock, but at the moment he was just sick as the squabbling. He had admitted to himself a couple of days ago that his faith in Hidalgo as a leader was shaken. One part of him knew that Hidalgo understood him better than anyone, and that was important, but he couldn't deny that the loses didn't exactly instill confidence. Mexico felt an uneasy restlessness growing inside of himself. He could feel all the parts of himself warring in his mind, making it impossible to make a choice. It was pure cacophony pounding through his skull. Quite suddenly he said, breaking into the conversation for the first time, "That is enough. We will implement Miguel's plan and make a stand here."

In his agitation, Mexico stood up and quickly walked out. He couldn't stand being here anymore. He would have to explain his decision, and he couldn't do that right now because he had honestly not had a good logical reason for it. He had chosen to side with Hidalgo simply out of habit. Mexico really had no idea where he was going, but needed to find time alone to collect his thoughts. The logical place to go was to his own tent. There was no true solitude in an encampment like this, which was not close enough to a town to allow for the annexation of real shelter. Here, there were no doors to close or lock. Solitude really depended on no one looking for you, and for Mexico that never happened. He could count on maybe a few minutes before Philippines, or Texas, or some mortal came looking for him. He reached his tent and went inside.

If his dwellings and possessions had seemed sparse before, they seemed even more so now. He had gone from the grandeur of the Spanish court to this, a canvas tent. His dress, too, had changed although not so dramatically. He had left his gilded jacket with Spain and the one he now wore now was made of a much darker crimson and trimmed with black. It was less fine than what he had worn before, but it was in no way common man's clothing. He was dressed as an officer, which was his rank. Underneath it, he wore a simple white shirt, the last he had brought with him, covered with a black vest, and a pair of brown pants tucked into his black riding boots. The boots were scuffed and the heels were wearing slightly thin. The silver in his belt buckle was also beginning to tarnish.

Mexico continued walking until he reached a thin wooden chair and sat back down. The pounding in his head continued unabated, but now he could shut it out. He put his hand to his temple and rubbed, which did cause the pain to subside. One more battle would be able to really clear his head, one more victory. It was possible, he had the advantage of numbers, but the constant problem was discipline. If the troops could hold their ground, then an easy victory was ensured. Mexico closed his eyes and leaned his head back. It allowed him to think without distraction. He was able to push the pain completely into the back of his mind. Now, he needed to think about another conundrum that had been bothering him: keeping both Philippines and Texas here was a problem.

The two of them almost always at each other's throats, more so now than before. It was an unnecessary source of dissonance that was becoming hugely distracting to Mexico, and he didn't need that now. It wasn't hard to choose which one of them to keep, seeing as Texas was useless in a fight. If Mexico wanted to feel secure on the battlefield, he wanted to have Philippines by his side. The question that he had not yet sorted out was what to do with Texas. Since Mexico had struck him, the Texan had taken to being silent and moody. He was writing more and more letters to America's sister, and for some reason he seemed able to get responses as well. Mexico had long since stopped being irritated by it. But, now the thought occurred to him. If Texas wanted to see her that badly, Mexico could grant that wish. It would get Texas out of his hair, and it would give him a way to get some sort of message to Alfred. He didn't want help that would be admitting weakness. But, it would keep Alfred from worrying and trying to interfere in some stupid way. That would do, he could send his brother north.

Then, he would be much more free to do what he wanted to. It might also be smart to send Philippines back to Manila. It would be easy enough to have her smuggled on a cargo ship back to her homeland. But, he couldn't stand the thought of Philippines being so far away. Without her, Mexico would feel completely and utterly alone. Her company was bringing him more solace than anything else. At that moment, he realized it was perfectly silent and all of the conflict was silent. He had somehow sufficiently silenced the war inside his head for now.

Mexico breathed a sigh of relief and opens his eyes. He saw to his surprise that front of the tent was opening just as he opened his eyes. Allende came through the front of the tent, one hand on the opening and the other on the hilt of his sabre. It was a sign that he, subconsciously, expecting an argument. Mexico didn't speak at once, because he knew the mortal wanted to start the conversation. Allende fixed his gaze firmly on Mexico, making eye contact, and said, "You owe me a reason for that decision. I may be willing to follow you, but I will never do so blindly." Mexico sighed; he had been trying to avoid this. He could lie, but that hardly seemed to be practical at the moment. He took a deep breath and then said, "Would you believe me, Ignacio, if I said that I don't really have one?"

The mortal stopped dead in his tracks. His hand dropped off the hilt of his sword, "Why did you make it then?" The country stood up and took a few steps. Sitting down had been making him feel like he was a disobedient child being chastised. After taking a few steps, he answered with the closest thing to the truth that he could muster, "I needed to stand by Miguel, that is all." Allende sighed out of exasperation, "Are you still so certain that he is leader you need?" This question cut right to the heart of the matter. It was easy for Mexico to say that he believed that Hidalgo had an important connection with him, their conversations proved that. But, it was harder to say that he was truly certain that the priest could lead the army to another victory. He quickly responded, "Yes."

But it sounded like an empty lie. Mexico looked down for a second before bitterly admitting, "No, actually I am not certain." When he looked back up, Mexico saw a look of dawning realization come across Allende. The mortal took a step toward Mexico and said, "I see you are at a crossroads." There was an underlying satisfaction in his voice that repelled Mexico. He was sick of this feud, and he was beginning to wonder if Allende even cared about him for any reason other than for his own benefit. Mexico responded evasively, "I am conflicted, yes, but that does not mean I will abandon Miguel." Allende took another small step forward and said, fixing his eyes again on Mexico's, "I see through this, you know. You are proud, too proud to admit that you have been wrong about Miguel. Give him one more test."

Mexico allowed for his curiosity to rule, "What test would you recommend?" The mortal man smiled, as though he had won sort of victory, "This battle was his idea, right? Well, if we win this time, keep him in charge. But, if we lose, you have to let go of him." Mexico quickly turned away. He would rather stand by Hidalgo, and this sort of conspiring made him feel sick. He said, not turning to look at Allende, "I will not agree to that."

He heard the mortal's voice clearly behind him, it was now sharp, and "You don't have to if he loses again, the army will not support him. He will be cast out whether you will it or not. I want you to support me when I replace him. I can do it without your help, but I care what you think of me. So, will you agree, or will you not?" Mexico now turned. He had not thought of himself as cornered, but now he could clearly see that he was; Allende had set this up perfectly. He could either agree to Allende's plan, or he would have to start losing his hold on his own army. He had to admit to himself that there was no real choice here. The revolution could not be put at risk for anything, even Hidalgo. Mexico took a breath and said, grudgingly, "I will agree. But, this is conditional. If we lose, then I will stand by you if the troops are on your side. I will side with my people, is that clear?"

He was now facing Allende again, and the mortal had a look on his face that was irritatingly victorious. The mortal nodded and said, "I can take that for now. You will see, eventually, that I am the one who will lead this revolution to completion. Miguel has served his purpose, now you need to set him aside." Mexico scoffed in response, "Just do your job, I will change my view on you when you have earned it." Allende made a frustrated noise in the back of the throat, but it was involuntary. He had accomplished what he had wanted, and pushing the issue farther would do nothing now. The mortal turned and left Mexico alone once again.

But, Allende had left Mexico with a lot to think about. He now couldn't contemplate defeat now, because it would mean turning against the man that he could actually speak about his feelings to. He desperately needed to think about something else, and his mind went immediately back to the fate of his brother. Texas needed to be out from under Mexico's feet, and there was a very easy way to do it. There would be no harm in sending the boy to spend time with the woman he seemed so attached to. Mexico had things to do, and he couldn't continue brooding right now.

He stood up and walked to the front of the tent, intent on walking out and finding Texas. He was stopped by a voice immediately to his left, "Alejandro!" He turned to face Philippines, who had apparently been standing outside during Mexico's entire conversation with Allende. She looked incredibly pulled together, which seemed at odds with the general disorder of the camp. Her hair was pulled back into a thick black braid, which was immaculately smooth. Her dress mirrored his own; it was the same color palate. Her vest and pants were both black and the vest was trimmed with red. Around her waist she was wearing a thick red sash, with a pair of identical knives tucked into the back of it. They were elegant knives that he had smuggled from Brazil; the handles were made of African ivory imbedded with decorative pieces of ebony. The request had resulted in a more than slightly skeptical letter from Brazil, who still refused to believe that there wasn't more between Mexico and his ward. But, that was incidental. Mexico had discovered that knives were Philippine's preferred weapon, just as the sword was his. Beneath the vest, she wore a tight white shirt, which covered her arms.

She was tapping the toe of her boot against the ground in an impatient manner. He nodded slightly in her direction, which indicated to Philippines that she could speak, which she soon did, "You have been troubled and you have been neglecting me. I have been struggling with how to say this to you, but we had a deal and no part of it included you neglecting me. I want you to get rid of your brother. I know he is the reason for your cold shoulder." The words started slow and respectful, but as the emotions slipped through they became hurried and the statement ended with her chest heaving, as though she had just run a distance. Mexico could hear her frustration and a certain heartbreak that surprised him. Thankfully, he could grant her wish, and it would make his job easier.

He put a hand comfortingly on her face, which was warm from the exertion of speaking her mind, and said, "Be calm, Piri. I have a plan for Diego, and it involves him going away." He expected her to be happy about this news, but instead she took a step away from and started shaking her head slowly. Mexico had to ask, "What's wrong? I'm granting your wish." Her voice cracked as she said in response, "You are sending your brother away without my pleading in mind. You're cutting your ties, which means I will be next. I won't leave you when you need me the most. I won't do it, no matter what you say."

Mexico was completely taken aback. He hadn't thought that this was going to affect her so dramatically; it was not as if he had said that he wanted to send her away. Her lower lip was quavering from either sadness or anger and she now seemed lost for words. He took a step forward to be even closer to her. He could see a deep compassion that came alarmingly close to love in her shining black eyes. Mexico quickly found the words to comfort her, and for once they were the truth, "When I said that I would never cast you aside, I meant it. I want to have you by my side until the world ends. You are a sister to me; Diego is a stranger. I need you, now more than ever."

While he spoke, she seemed to relax, and when he finished she gave him a strange unreadable look. There was a brief moment of complete, but pregnant silence, and then she did something completely unexpected: She threw her arms around him. This action seemed to violate the carefully established hierarchy between them. The stringent order was broken by this single act of care. Mexico was, for one of a very few times, completely nonplussed. His shock was so great that it took him a solid minute or two to even tentatively return the hug. It was not a gentle gesture, Philippines was not the sort to be tender. The gesture expressed emotions that had apparently come to a head, this was true, but the grip of the arms was that of a fighter. She held on with a firmness that one wouldn't expect from someone her size. He placed his arms carefully around her, still unsure if he should be scolding her for this breach of decorum.

They held that position long enough for Mexico to appreciate the irony of it. Here they both were, armed as though they were expecting to be attacked at any moment, sharing a moment of pure compassion expressed in the rough way that both of them were most comfortable with. Philippines spoke as though she was choosing her words very carefully, "I have never said this before: Thank you. Thank you for being the only one to care." Mexico couldn't bring himself to respond, although a strange warm feeling was swelling in his chest. Finally, she released him.

Once the contact was broken, she looked down, "That was improper." In the same second as she uttered the words, Philippines turned away and took a couple hurried steps. Mexico couldn't let it end like this, although he was still reeling from the whole strange experience. He called after her, "Piri, stop!" She obeyed almost automatically and turned back to face Mexico, but said nothing. He filled the silence, "I don't mind. You need to let me know what you are feeling." She nodded curtly and turned again to walk away. But one more time, Mexico stopped him, "Piri, one more thing." This time the glance back was hopeful, as though she was expecting more sentiment. However, his purpose was strictly practical, "Go tell Diego that I want to see him. Before the night is over, I will also need you to check on my horse and sharpen those blades. Tomorrow will be an important day."

Mexico found himself lying in bed with his eyes closed, but still entirely awake. He had only gotten a few hours of sleep during the night, and they had been scattered and uneasy. The thought of the battle that was looming was haunting him. Too much hung on this victory, and the victory was not guaranteed. He could hear Texas talking in his sleep nearby. The Texan was crooning a name, in a cloyingly sweet fashion, in his sleep. Mexico had no desire to know what his brother was dreaming about. The two of them had to share a tent because of the limited space in the camp, and this meant that Texas had a small cot in the corner, while Mexico had the rest of the tent.

A soft pink glow began to fill the tent, which meant that the sun was rising. Mexico, irritated by the light and the continued noises of his brother, decided to give up on sleep. He got dressed for battle quickly, making sure that he had all the proper weapons. Today was the day for a pivotal battle; he could feel it in his blood. But, this wasn't the simple excitement and blood lust that he had felt before the other battles. There was something frantic, even unnervingly fatalistic about this. It made him painfully aware of the roaring of his own blood in his ears.

Texas turned over in his sleep and murmured something that sounded vaguely like a confession of love. Mexico was of half a mind to wake him, if only to end whatever happiness the dream was bringing him. The truth was that the younger boy would not be at all essential to the battle. In fact, he was going to sneak out while the battle raged and go North to the border. Mexico decided to make the kinder decision and let his brother sleep.

The morning was cold, as was to be expected this late in the year, but it was bright. The sky had a cloudless, almost garish, clarity. The rising sun painted the sky a lurid mix of oranges and pinks, but Mexico knew that tomorrow the sun would rise red. The stillness of early morning still laid over everything, broken only by the steady drip of dew off the side of the tents and the continual rush of the nearby river. Mexico inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm himself so that he could appreciate some of the serenity. It failed completely, the anxious energy he felt would not subside. There was nothing left to do but to walk to the stables and start preparing for the battle that hung in the air.

The army was in position long before the red and gold banner of Spain was visible on the horizon. From the place where he sat astride his black stallion, Mexico looked around him and tried to measure the situation. There was no question that he had the advantage of numbers, the size of his army was twice that of anything Spain could muster. They now also had something that resembled modern weaponry, seeing as they had taken cannons from one of the towns they had passed on the way from Mexico City to here. It had required cohesion and the use of hostages, but that was acceptable. Mexico didn't feel any particular emotion at all about the trail of loyalist bodies that had accompanied this revolution. Perhaps it was because he had accepted long ago that his freedom would cost a certain amount of flesh and blood.

But a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that this was not the first time his emotional response had fallen short of what should have. That same small voice dared to ask if he comprehended emotion in the purely abstract way instead of actually feeling any. It was an absurd thought, and not useful in the moment. He focused his mind back on the task at hand. The overarching problem was what it had always been: Mexico did not doubt the passion of his army, he doubted the capability. Lack of discipline had become even more apparent when the tide turned in favor of Spain; the men could not hold position or formation in battle. Each acted of his own accord, paying no mind to tactics or strategy. This battle would be won only if the sheer force of numbers was enough.

Hidalgo was commanding directly now, which meant that the set up was perfect for Allende's proposed test. Allende had been given a lesser command of one of the smaller positions. Mexico had been trying to not think of it, because he did not want to think about the possibility of having to cast Hidalgo aside. He had intentionally decided to distance himself from both Allende and Hidalgo for this battle because he didn't want to be the center of their bickering again. He urged his horse slightly forward, so that he was almost level with the backmost row of infantry. It would be suicide to be any closer to the musket fire that would inevitable come.

The silence of the day was broken by the resounding sound of a cannon being fired. It came from the Mexican side. The shot moved in a precise arc until it smashed into the ground, sending dirt flying in all directions around the impact. But it served no practical purpose, as it fell about a foot short of the Spanish lines. However, it did seem to signal the start of the battle. The Spanish lines moved forward at a much faster clip, now approaching much faster. Again, a strange silence seemed to settle on the battlefield, which was again broken by the sound of cannon fire, this time from the Spanish side. This shot found its mark somewhere off to Mexico's left.

The wind, which had been blowing from North to South, had stopped, but picked up again, blowing from South to North. The wind carried on it the strong scent of gunpowder and iron, and there was something intoxicating in the scent. Mexico was frustrated with these teasing blows; they were only prolonging the inevitable. Apparently, his commanders felt the same way. This time all the cannons on their side fired at once accompanied by a smattering of musket fire, which created a storm of iron that rained down on the enemy. This was the real catalyst and Mexico could feel it. His heart was pounding in his chest against the Aztec medallion. The enemy artillery marched forward, leveling their guns as they did so.

In this moment, something struck Mexico; this was not the whole of the Spanish force, which meant that they were accommodating for their smaller size by using a flanking maneuver. Mexico knew that it was strategically sound, but that gave him very little comfort. He could only hope that his commanders also realized the same thing and would work to counter it. He had to focus on dealing with the force that was approaching down the middle. The most effective thing to do at this point would be to coordinate a single firing of all the muskets at once and mowing down most of the approaching line. But, before he could give any orders, the tinny sound of musket fire rang out. He noted with frustration that the soldiers were already firing, with no organization.

Mexico managed to say, "Hold your fire!" but it had no effect. The unorganized fire did little to make a dent in the enemy force, and soon all the men on the Mexican side needed to reload their muskets. This, for a professionally trained force, would have only taken a couple of minutes. However, these men would take entirely too long to reload their muskets and would not have the opportunity to fire another volley into the approaching enemy. The frustration rose mixed with the bloodlust that battle caused in him. Mexico urged his horse slightly forward, although he could make no real progress from here. This was the frustration of being on the defensive, it meant staying put and enduring the anticipation of waiting for the enemy to come within range. Mexico could feel his anxious horse pawing the earth beneath him. He reached out and patted the black neck, even though he shared the horse's frustration.

Cannon fire continued from both sides, every so often an impact could be seen in the lines of soldiers. The air was now thick with the scents of gunpowder, disturbed earth, and spilt blood. The sounds of battle were also now elevated to complete cacophony. The Spanish line leveled their muskets and fired an organized volley. The shots ripped through the line of infantry right in front of Mexico with brutal efficiency. The effect of the organized fire was also compounded by the fact that the Spanish weapons were the most modern kind, which meant that they had the most accuracy possible. But, thanks to the short distance, only one organized volley was fired. Once they were close enough, the defending force surged forward and started fighting with short rage weapons. This was finally Mexico's chance to get in on the action.

He quickly drew both of his pistols and fired two shots in very quick succession; both found their marks in the writhing sea of fighting men and struck Spanish solders squarely in the head. He finally allowed his horse to gallop forward into the fight. He reloaded one of his pistols quickly and managed to fire another shot, while in motion. This one missed its target, but it tore a hole in the throat of another solider. The man put his hand to his throat and red rivulets ran between his fingers. He collapsed as the blood poured out from the wound. Mexico didn't stop to watch the mortal's death, although he would have liked to.

He continued to move through the battle. It was, as far as he could tell, about even, so he still had a chance at victory. He finally pulled his horse to a stop a few feet in front of an ammunition wagon, which was centrally located on the battlefield. He stood up in his stirrups to survey the battlefield. Mexico heard, but did not see, a cannonball zoom very close by. The shot smashed into the wagon and all of the gunpowder contained within it reacted with the fire. The wagon exploded spectacularly, sending pieces of burning wood flying in all directions. A shockwave radiated out around the wagon. The impact of the explosion knocked Mexico sideways, so forcefully that he was knocked off his horse.

His ears were ringing so loudly that he could no longer hear the sounds of battle over it. He hit the ground hard, but it felt like nothing had been broken. Although, he did feel a single bead of moisture rolling down his forehead. He put his hand up to touch to and the tips of his fingers came away red. That meant that he must be bleeding again, but this seemed to be a small wound. Mexico didn't have much time to contemplate his own wounds. He became suddenly aware that a pair of Spanish soldiers was watching him with anticipation. He remembered that he was dressed like an officer and, thus, made a very attractive target. His pistols would both take too long to load, so he would have to use his blade.

He propelled himself to his feet and drew his sword. He was nowhere near as steady on his feet as he would like to be, but there was no way to remedy his situation now. Both Spanish soldiers looked at each other and nodded their agreement. Both of them drew swords, shorter and less fine than Mexico's. The one on the right charged forward first, swinging clumsily. Mexico caught the blow easily and parried so agresively that it knocked the mortal man backwards. The other tried to take advantage of the situation and attacked, but the attempt was also lacking, and Mexico was able to push him away with another easy parry.

Mexico felt himself starting to smirk simply because he could see how superior he was to these mortals. He took the offensive and swung at the first man who had attacked. The man was only able to block one low swing before Mexico brought another strike up and opened the man's throat. The blood sprayed out of the veins as the man's body fell. With that one dead, he turned to the other solider, who was now looking much less sure of his plan of attack. Mexico raised his now bloody sword to challenge the mortal. The Spaniard seemed to decide that it was his duty to try. He took a swing at Mexico, which was easily deflected. The Aztec boy caught the attack easily and managed to interlock their swords. Mexico used his other hand to draw a knife from his belt and planted the knife up to the hilt in the mortal's eye. The man's body collapsed at once. Mexico didn't bother to retrieve the knife; he simply sheathed his sword and turned back around.

His horse was standing right behind him, bleeding slightly from one side, but otherwise unharmed. Mexico put his hand to his forehead again and felt a scab beneath his fingers, which meant that the wound was not serious enough to keep bleeding. He glanced down at his hands, which were now covered in blood. It didn't matter now, he needed to focus on the battle on hand. He walked forward and grabbed the reigns of his horse and pulled himself back up into the saddle. There was something supremely comforting about being back up in the saddle. He reached down and grabbed a shard of wood sticking out of the horse's flank. It was buried in the flesh, probably by the explosion. Mexico pulled the shard out, causing his horse to whinny. He stroked the horse's neck and said softly, "You're ok, you're going to be ok."

He was glad to be back on top of the horse, the position allowed him to be above the mortals. These mortals, these foot soldiers, were nothing more that the instruments that countries used to settle their squabbles. It was only fitting that Mexico could be above them. He looked around the battlefield again. In the past couple of minutes that he had been fighting, something perceptible had changed. The defending soldiers had lost what little strategy they had and everything has descended into chaos. The explosion must have shaken them, as easily frightened as mortals were. With a sinking sense of hopelessness Mexico realized that he was losing. It was a familiar sensation, but in this case the loss was not acceptable.

He needed to find someone who could turn the tide again, not enough of the mortals paid him enough mind for him to do it himself. When he turned his head, he caught sight of Allende, who was easily visible astride his horse close by. Mexico decided that this was the only option at the moment. He kicked his horse into a full gallop and headed straight for Allende. He had to cut through a maze of dead bodies and divots that had been gouged out of the ground by cannon fire. He eventually reached Allende, who looked flustered.

Mexico yelled to him, "Ignacio, you have to bring them back to order." The mortal turned to him and his eyes were alight with fervor. They were very close to each other now, but they were both yelling to be heard over the sounds of battle.  
Allende responded, "I can't! They have no discipline! If we had trained them, then we would have a chance. But as things stand, we must retreat." Mexico was incensed by the idea. Retreat would be acknowledging defeat, and it would give Spain a strategic advantage. This was a crucial battle and Mexico did not want to retreat when he still had the power to snatch victory. He clenched his hand on the reigns and his knuckles turned pale.

Mexico shouted back, "I will not retreat! Not now!" Allende screamed in frustration, "For once in your life, use common sense! Do you want to go back to Spain?" Mexico took a quick breathe in through his nose. The question was understandably shocking and he offered the obvious answer to the question, "No, of course I don't." The mortal responded quickly, "That is what will happen if you continue this battle. They are flanking us, we have no chance!" Mexico shook his head slightly, barely conscious of his actions.

This little sign of denial seemed to enrage Allende even further,"They will have victory soon. If we stay here they will capture us." Mexico spoke swiftly, "No!" The mortal continued, "They will capture us and drag you back in front of the empire you belong to. If that is what you want, then continue." Mexico didn't think before he responded, he simply spoke out of the rage and fear that Allende's words ignited in him, "Fine, call the retreat!" The call for retreat seemed to go up through the entire force as soon as Allende gave the signal. What was left of the force retreated Northward. Mexico kept close by the side of Allende; he didn't even think to look for Hidalgo. It wasn't until the movement stopped that the priest caught up with the pair of them. He looked aggravated and fixed his eyes on Allende, "How dare you call a retreat without my consent? I am in command!"

Mexico sighed and cradled his forehead in his hand. The last thing he wanted to do now was listen to more bickering. Allende spat back, "We will see how long that lasts, priest." Mexico decided that it would be far preferable to not listen to any of this. It was all already decided anyway, he had already made that deal with Allende. He turned his horse and started riding away, hoping to be able to leave silently. Hidalgo called after him, "Alejandro, aren't you going to back me?" Mexico looked back over his shoulder and said, in the coldest way he could muster, "It's up to the army, Miguel. My opinion hardly matters." Satisfied with the statement, Mexico rode away leaving the mortals to look at each other Hidalgo slightly aghast, Allende smug.


	40. Chapter 40

At this point, the blonde cut in again. He seemed glad to have a topic on which he could speak, "You know, I have always wondered about why Texas showed up so suddenly. He said it was your doing, but I was never sure he was telling the truth." Mexico smirked, "He may be a coward, but even he wouldn't dare run away when I needed him. I needed him far away, and I got just that. Tell me, did he have a happy reunion with your sister?"

The question was flippantly cynical, and America heard it. He had come to accept the relationship between Texas and his sister a long time ago, the wedding had pretty much cemented it as a reality anyway. But, Mexico continued to treat it as a strange curiosity that he both disliked and felt as strange intrigue towards. It was almost chafing to America to hear him mock his sister's relationship. This was no exception.

He responded to the question with something that was meant to sound like a sharp reproach, "Why do you want to know?" This immediately got a reaction from Mexico, who took a small step forward, "I want to know because I want to know if I furnished someone with happiness while I was so terribly miserable. But that is beside the point. I expect you to tell me what I want to know because I am bearing my soul for you, it is only an even exchange for you to do the same, don't you think? Don't make that face at me, Alfred, you don't have the moral high ground on me."

The words were delivered with such force that the blonde felt himself start to shrink slightly. America immediately tried to lessen his disapproving scowl, which only resulted in his face dropping into a defeated flatness. Mexico walked back over to the bed and sat down next to his lover and put his arm around the blonde's shoulders, "I'm sorry I have to do that, Al, but sometimes you just get so childish. Just tell me about it." America turned his head to look directly into the other's gold eyes, "But you love me despite that, right?" The Latin man responded with a smile, "Of course, now tell me about my brother."  
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The Virginian fall was still very warm, although the wind was chilled slightly. America had come to talk to his sister about the state of their sovereignty, which was currently being encroached upon by England. The young country was struggling more than enough without his old colonizer deciding to take back what he had lost. America had just finished commissioning the very first of his own navy, which would give him some hope of being able to keep Arthur at least off his coasts, and he now wanted to talk to his sister about the shared crisis. It was rather convenient that since the construction of Washington DC their homes were so close together. Richmond was a very short ride away, which facilitated these kinds of visits.

Annabelle was not hard to find, since she was lounging on a couch on her veranda, drinking a cup of tea. America had not written to her about his visit, and it was quite apparent that she had not been expecting him from the state of her dress. Her golden curls, usually neatly pinned, were loose and spilling over her shoulders. She was wearing a simple white gown with only slight blue embroidery; around her shoulder she was wearing a dark blue shawl, which was serving as protection against the slight cold in the autumn air. In short, she was dressed as though she was not expecting company.

America walked up the steps of the porch, but didn't immediately announce his presence. Instead, he watched as his sister put down her cup in a delicate matching saucer and picked up a letter, which was creased as though it had been unfolded and read several times. As she read over it again, she sighed and put her hand to his chest. Her expression was tender, but there was a slight crease forming between her eyebrows. It was only after watching her read for a few minutes that America cleared his throat and said, "Good afternoon, Annabelle."

Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice and her expression immediately hardened. Their eyes met and hers made no secret of the fact that she was displeased with him observing what had been a personal moment. Finally, Annabelle spoke, "Alfred, I was not expecting you today. It would have been proper for you to send a letter ahead of yourself." America was terribly unperturbed by his sister's scorn, it was normal for him and he had far more important things to discuss with her anyway. So, he walked over to the couch and sat next to her, As he did so, she quickly folded up the letter she had been reading and placed it on the table as far away from him as possible. She then picked up her cup of tea, which had been filled by a young girl with very dark skin who was standing just behind the couch clutching a silver teapot. It was this girl that Annabelle addressed, "Girl, go to the kitchen and fetch something for my brother to eat, I do imagine he is hungry. After all, he must have missed lunch to ride here." The slave meekly said, "Yes'm" and walked into the house.

America waited until the girl was gone to start talking, "Listen, we have a problem. I know no one particularly wants to go to war with Arthur again, but he is acting against us with impunity. I simply ask for your help." Annabelle scowled, which was still somehow a charming look on her doll-like face, "We barely won our independence and now you want to drag us into another war? Alfred, we have just gotten on our feet as it is." She glared at him for a second, but she soon took a quick glance back at the letter. America noticed it, but decided not to inquire as to the contents of the letter.

He responded, "I know that far better than you do. I have had to deal with the rebellions, the failed revolutions, and the discontent. But what do you think will happen to us if we don't show Europe that we do not answer insults?" He was about to answer his own question; he realized that she was looking away from him and back at the letter. America became slightly irritated. He had important things to discuss with her and she wasn't even doing him the courtesy of paying attention. He continued, this time attempting to speak loud enough to break through her thoughts, "They will descend upon our weakness like wolves!"

She didn't respond again. Instead, she started chewing on her lower lip. He lost all his patience and said, "Are you listening to me, Annabelle?" The sound of her name was enough to snap his sister out of her reverie. She looked back at him and said, her voice making it quite clear that her mind was still very far away, "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" This response did nothing to ease America's frustration; it actually magnified it.

He knew the source of his sister's distraction, and he now wanted to know what the letter said. He abruptly stood up and walked around the table. Without giving his sister any warning, he reached out and put his hand on the letter. Annabelle lunged forward as soon as she recognized the action for what it was, but she was a half-second too late. Her hand came down on top of her brothers. America pulled the letter off the table, unrestrained by his sister's hand. The paper felt like it had been handled often, it had a certain softness to it.

Annabelle quickly said, obviously flustered, "Give that back, Alfred. It's nothing important. It will mean nothing to you." She extended her hand pleadingly. Her blue eyes were also wide, placating. America had fallen for her begging too many times when they were children to be moved now. He took a step backwards, away from her and started to unfold the letter, saying as he did so, "If it were not important, it would not be distracting you so much. Now, let's see who is writing to you." Annabelle stood up and said, this time firm, "That letter is very personal. It was sent to me, which means it is not meant for your eyes. Now give it back!"

Again, America made no attempt to give the letter back. By now, he was curious as to what his sister was so desperate to keep secret. Once he finished unfolding it, he looked over the paper eagerly. The handwriting was proficient, by no means unreadable, but lacked any grace or style. There was even a slight disorder to it; some of the words did not match the proceeding ones in size. It was certainly not handwriting that America recognized, which only added to the mystery. Only one line stood out from the rest, where the ink became far thicker, as though the quill had been pressed into the paper much harder. It read, "I confide this in you alone: I have begun to lose my ability to control myself, as hard as I try. My brother is at once absent and overbearing, his presence is becoming unbearable. I fear that I may soon lose control completely and that will spell the end of me." America skipped over the rest of the letter to get to the signature at the end. He spoke aloud out of shock, "Texas?"

A voice spoke behind him, "You called?" America turned around to see the aforementioned man. Texas's clothing was covered in a light layer of dust, but was generally in order. He was smiling with a strange carelessness; America dared even call it relief. Perhaps it was relief at being away from Mexico. Texas took a couple long strides and was soon on the veranda. He walked over to America and said, "My letter, por favor."

Still stunned by Texas's sudden appearance, America wordlessly handed over the letter. He wondered if he should reveal that he knew about Texas's feelings about Mexico. He decided against it for now. When he said nothing, Texas turned his attention to Annabelle. She was just as shocked as her brother had been, but she handled it with more grace. Texas's face lit up when he turned to face her, and he was suddenly full of light. Annabelle took a couple small steps forward before deciding to throw away dignity and closed the space between her and Texas very quickly. Once they were close enough, she threw her arms around him.

America couldn't be more surprised. He had never seen his sister express so much affection for anyone. She was so thoroughly independent that this reaction seemed very strange. Texas responded by wrapping his arms securely around her. America found it even harder to comprehend when Annabelle started shaking slightly and said, "I was so worried about you. I was waiting so long for a letter. I thought…"

She stopped as though suddenly unable to express what she was thinking. Texas cradled her head with one hand and kept the other arm firmly around her waist. When he responded, his voice didn't sound exceptionally stable either, "Don't say that. I'm here for you. You deserve to never be alone." America stood there is flabbergasted silence, trying and failing to think of something to say. The pair embraced for what seemed like an eternity before CSA finally broke away from Texas and said, her eyes shining, "I'm such a mess, you shouldn't even look at me."

Texas reached out and brushed back one of her loose curls, seeming very sure of himself. He then said, looking directly into her blue eyes, "You're beautiful all the time." Annabelle's porcelain complexion immediately turned pink. America was finally able to think of something to interrupt the moment. He said, "Diego, why are you here? What is going on with your brother?" Texas hissed, almost imperceptibly, and turned towards America. His eyes had turned hard and endlessly black. He said, "Is that all I am to you? An extension of Alejandro?" America could see the bitterness he had felt in the letter. However, he was more worried about Mexico. Having Texas here meant that Mexico had sent him, because the younger brother would not dare desert simply to reunite with Annabelle. That meant that Mexico must need something from America and Texas was here as a messenger. There were more important overarching political issues that he needed to address without Texas's bitterness getting in the way. The relationship between Texas and Mexico wasn't really his business. He responded, "That's not the point. You must be here for a reason." Texas sighed, but his gaze didn't falter, "I do, in fact, have a reason. My brother gave me a proposition for you and it involves you giving him weapons. If you are willing, we can talk about it later."

America raised one eyebrow, "Why can we not talk about it now?" At this point, Annabelle spoke, while taking a step forward so she was standing right next to Texas, "Because this is my moment, brother. Diego has ridden all the way here, he is probably very tired." The inflection in her voice indicated that rest was not the only thing on her mind. Texas nodded and turned his gaze back to Annabelle. When their eyes met again, America had the distinct feeling that he was suddenly alone. In the other two's perspectives, he had completely disappeared. Annabelle said, still looking at Texas, "Let's find you a room so you can stay for the night, or longer." Again, Texas nodded and carefully took Annabelle's hand in his own.

They both walked away, leaving America standing on the veranda alone. He decided that there was nothing he could possibly do at the moment. Both of the people he wanted to talk to at the moment had just walked off with each other. He sat back down on the couch and looked out over the land surrounding his sister's house. The slave girl returned and set a tray of sandwiches down lightly on the table. She looked at him with some concern but held her tongue, apparently more used to his sister. America took notice of it and said, "You can talk; I need the company. What's your name?" She took the cue to sit next to him on the couch and fold her dark hands carefully in her lap. She responded, "My mistress calls me Jane when she uses my name." America picked up one of the sandwiches and nibbled on a corner as he responded, "Well, I will talk to you since I have nothing to do." He waited for her to respond as he thought about what Texas could possibly have come to ask him.  
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Mexico was standing above the spectacle as the rivalry between Allende and Hidalgo came to a head. He had watched them fight the night before following the loss at Calderon Bridge, and now the moment had finally come. They had stopped in a large town after the retreat, and that was where Mexico now was. He was occupying a room that had belonged to the mayor of this town. The loyalist mayor had already been dealt with and Mexico was glad to have a room with some hint of luxury again. True, this was not a large town nor was it a confluence of wealth, but the change was still welcome. Once again, he was residing in a building that had more than one story.

He was standing on the balcony looking out over the scene he had known was coming for several days. He had chosen to distance himself from it because of his emotional tie to Hidalgo. Below him, what remained of the army was assembled in the town square. On a raised platform, Hidalgo and Allende were standing facing each other surrounded by lesser officers. The wind that was whipping through the square making it so that Mexico could hardly hear the words that either of them were speaking. It didn't really feel like a detriment because he could clearly see the emotions through the facial expressions and body movements. Allende looked as though he was pleased, but trying to keep it hidden behind a mask of discipline. He extended his hand and his mouth moved as though he was saying something crisp, possibly an order.

Hidalgo looked drained, almost pale. His brow looked far more lined than it ever had before, especially in the harsh light of midday. For the first time, the priest looked like an old man. Moving slowly, he removed an ornate sword from his belt. The sword was a symbol of command and authority and Hidalgo handing it over was the gesture that indicated that he was permanently giving up command of the army. Once the sword was free of his belt, Hidalgo made to hand the sword over easily. Mexico felt his heart sink; he was not comfortable watching Hidalgo be broken like this. No matter what he said to Allende, Mexico's heart was still with Hidalgo, which would not change.

Hidalgo suddenly looked up at Allende's face and the fire returned to his eyes. Instead of simply handing over the sword, he drove it into the ground right next to Allende's foot. Mexico felt a slight smile curl over his lips. But, the scene below him was not yet over. As Allende struggled to pry the sword out of the ground, Hidalgo turned his gaze away from the other mortal and looked up at the balcony. Mexico felt as though the piercing gaze saw right through him. Hidalgo's dark eyes met his own and he felt himself shiver, despite the heat of the day. He turned away.

Mexico felt a strange swelling emotion that he could not name, although it may have been guilt. He had agreed to this when Allende had given him an ultimatum, so in a way it was his fault. He wanted to win his freedom, but this was starting to make it clear what the costs may be. Allende was very capable of leading, but something about this still felt wrong. Mexico turned completely away and took a couple steps inside the room. Being back within the confines of the room made him feel slightly safer.

Mexico took a couple deep breaths. He could feel emotions beginning to subside again. If this was the price of victory, he wanted to be able to accept it. A couple minutes passed as he attempted to grapple with himself. Then he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs just outside of his door. A part of him already knew who was just outside, but he didn't immediately come to the door. He wasn't certain if he was ready for the conversation that was going to ensue. There was a light knock on the door and he heard Hidalgo's voice, "I know you're in there, Alejandro. We need to talk." Mexico walked to the door, but he still couldn't bring himself to open it.

He spoke through the door, "What can we possibly say to each other? Are you going to blame me for siding with Ignacio? You have every right to blame me." He put his forehead lightly against the wood of the door as he waited for a response. It felt like an eternity waiting for the blame to fall on him. But when the voice came from the other side of the divide again, it said, "No, I don't blame anything but his ambition and my own failures. I can't stay here now. I wanted a chance to say goodbye to you."

Mexico heard the defeat in the usually strong voice, and that finally broke him down. He carefully wrapped his hand around the doorknob and pulled it open. Hidalgo was standing just the other side of the door. He looked slightly surprised when the door actually opened. Mexico took a breath, even though he was not entirely sure what he was bracing himself for. Hidalgo said, looking directly at Mexico, "May I come in?" The Aztec boy nodded and stepped out of the way. The priest closed the door behind him as he came in.

When the door was firmly closed, Hidalgo spoke, "I know that my dismissal was not your decision. You haven't done anything wrong in doing what you think is right." Mexico tried to find words for a response, but they wouldn't come. He shook his head slightly and looked down. The priest was able to read his actions, and continued talking as though Mexico had agreed with him, "But you need to know that even when I leave, I will still be here for you. I want to believe that Ignacio will not fail you, but I can't be sure."

Mexico finally spoke, "Miguel, what can I do about it? I can't change the situation now." The priest responded quickly, "I'm going to leave regardless. But, if Ignacio fails you, I will do whatever I can to be back with you. But, if I can't, you should go to Jose Maria Morelos. He is my protégé, and a very talented strategist." Mexico shook his head and took a step back, "Why are you telling me this? You're acting like you're planning to die." He didn't mean the last words; he hadn't even considered it. But, now they came out in a rush of words and strangely strangled emotions.

He didn't want to be told about what his last resort should be when he still had an army and a leader. True, losing Hidalgo would hurt him, but it didn't not mean that the independence movement was lost. Hidalgo sighed and responded, "Like I said, I don't want to leave you, but I may not have a choice and I do not trust Allende to take care of you." Mexico nodded, but said nothing else. He could feel that this was an irreversible moment, but something told him that it was going to be important. Somehow, this conversation, this moment, felt vitally important to his future.  
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America looked across the table at Texas, who had been unavailable for most of the day, and said with some reservation, "So, your brother wants me to supply him?" Texas nodded, "Not completely, but he will take whatever you have to offer. There was actually supposed to be a mortal messenger who came before me, but that's not important." America nodded and looked out over the ornate dinner that his sister's slaves had set out. He didn't feel particularly inclined toward any of it, but his sister was sitting next to Texas across the table from him and looking at him expectantly.

He cut into a piece of chicken simply as something to do while he thought about Mexico's request. He hardly had enough weapons to keep England off of his own shores, let alone give any to Mexico. But, if he didn't do something to help Mexico in his time of need, America would feel negligent. He knew how important aid had been to him during his own independence and he couldn't deny Mexico help. Annabelle spoke in the meantime, "Personally, I'm in favor of doing what we can. I don't want to put Diego in danger."

America nodded again, attempting to comprehend the situation and make a decision. He took a small bite of his untouched meal to stall. He chewed slowly and deliberately as Texas watched him. America found himself wondering how much Texas really wanted him to agree. There was probably a part of Texas that didn't want to see Mexico win. Perhaps there was a part of Texas that wanted to see Mexico's ego deflated.

When America could no longer stall, he said, "I will do what I can to help your brother, but you must know that my own situation is not easy. I can not give you a definite answer, but it would be far easier to talk to your brother in person." Texas responded, his voice sounding very measured, "I can return to my brother and give him your offer. If I do, it is likely he will come in person. If that is what you want, I can do it." Again, America was not sure how that made him feel. His face-to-face conversations with Mexico seemed to have a tendency to turn hostile. If they met again, especially when Mexico was in the middle of a war, it could be very bad. But, on the other hand, it would give him a chance to help, which would likely heal the past offenses in his relationship with Mexico.

America looked down at his plate and realized that he had cut his chicken into very small cubes without being conscious of the action. He looked back up at Texas again and noticed that both he and Annabelle had already finished eating. He finally answered, "Diego, tell your brother that I will do what I can to supply him. That is my decision." Texas was quick with a response, "Then Alejandro was right about you, yet again. I will leave tonight."

This got Annabelle to react. She turned to Texas and said, "Surely you can stay longer. You must at least stay the night." Her hand moved across the table and softly laid itself on top of Texas's hand. He looked at her and his face showed that he was truly regretting what he was saying, "I really wish I could, but my brother demands news quickly and if I tarry here, he will be displeased." There was genuine fear in the last words of the statement, and America could hear it. For the first time he noticed a fading bruise on Texas's jaw line and he wondered what it had come from. Apparently, Annabelle noticed the tone as well because she simply dropped the subject. Texas half-heartedly nodded, "Then it is decided. I will depart tonight."  
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"And Antonio captured him on the way back." America looked over, surprised by Mexico's interruption. Mexico looked back at America and his golden eyes had turned hard, "That's what happened to the mortal messenger as well. Antonio was carefully watching all channels of communication north, expecting that I would reach out to you eventually." America tried to figure out what to do with this information.

He didn't really need to think for long because Mexico, as was his usual fashion, continued, "Again, I made the mistake. I wanted my brother out of my hair so desperately that I didn't think of what Spain could do with the information that I was looking to you for help." The blonde hesitated before asking, "And what did he do with that information?"

Mexico stood up again and started to pace, which seemed to be his usual reaction to memories that made him angry. He spoke more to himself than to America, "He did the best thing he strategically could do: He arranged for me to get a messenger who said that you wanted to arrange at meeting. So, I went north to reach you." America intoned, "But since Texas never got back to you, that means…"

Mexico finished the sentence, "That the meeting wouldn't have ever happened. Antonio played his cards very well and he almost got exactly what he wanted." He held up his hand and held his finger and thumb very close together, "I was this close to being captured, this close to losing my chance at independence for good. It was too damn close." The blonde blew out a single long breath. He had the feeling that Spain had used him without him even knowing it. In some way, he felt like he had been a part of Mexico's downfall. He tried to say something meaningful, "I had no idea, Alejandro. I really just wanted to help you."

Mexico hissed through his teeth, but said nothing. America continued in a desperate attempt to get the other to talk again, "But what happened to Texas? Being captured by Spain couldn't have been a good experience." The other sneered as he turned around again, continuing to pace, "What do you think? He told Antonio everything he needed to know and Tony let him go just to torment me more. The only comfort I could get out of it was the frustration Antonio must have felt when he realized that he had my bastard brother and not me." America immediately felt like he should defend Texas, but simply because he wanted to keep the peace between the brothers. Mexico skipped right over the issue again, as he was like to do, "Anyway, what happened to Diego isn't important. What mattered was what his actions spawned."  
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It still seemed strange to only be talking to Allende, even though it had been several days since military power had been wrested from Hidalgo. The planning table felt a little emptier, but Mexico couldn't let it bother him. What was done could not easily be undone, so there was little choice in fighting it. Allende was speaking, "I have gotten word from the Northern border. We can get weapons from the Americans if we can make it all the way north."

Mexico looked down at the map that was showing the border between himself and America. He had a sinking feeling that this was a terrible idea, but he couldn't place why. There was no logical reason he should be worried about going through with this deal. In fact, he had told Texas to broker this deal. It was only slightly strange that Texas had not yet returned. But, that could be easily explained by the relationship that was developing between Texas and America's sister. If he had stayed to spend more time with America's sister, then his absence was completely explainable. Mexico couldn't explain his sense of disease, but it persisted even when he tried to convince himself that there was no reason for it. He looked at Allende and attempted to look for some kind of reassurance.

Command suited Allende, who looked far more comfortable now that he didn't have anyone to fight. He looked certain of himself, which should have comforted Mexico. Even without some sort of reassurance, Mexico could not reasonably object to the plan. He nodded and said, "Fine, do what you will. What about Spain? He holds the majority of the North." Mexico drew his finger across the map to illustrate his point.

Allende replied, "You're cautious, but my information is good. I know what I'm doing." Mexico couldn't stop himself from hissing through his teeth. But, he had no reason to object. Again, he said, "Do what you will. You have the army now." He didn't want to continue this conversation. Mexico could feel the power slipping between his fingers and the feeling unnerved him. He had not had the power to change the decision about Hidalgo, and he didn't feel like he had the power to change the course of the independence movement now.

Allende recognized the dismissal and suddenly straightened back up. He looked around at the other commanders and said, "Everyone leave." As the room cleared, he turned to Mexico, "Are you mad at me?" The question seemed like it should have a simple answer, but, in truth, it did not. On a personal level, Mexico was becoming less and less fond of Allende as time went on. But, he realized that Allende was necessary to the independence. So, although his heart may be set against the change of leadership, his brain knew that he had to make peace with the man.

So, Mexico fixed his eyes on the mortal and lied, "No, I'm not mad at you." It was a simple response and it would allow Mexico to back out of this conversation. Or at least it would have if Allende had decided to believe him. However, the mortal responded, "I'm in no mood for your lies. Is this because of Miguel?" Mexico clenched his back teeth and attempted to keep his tone neutral, "You made that decision without me."

Allende sighed and took a couple steps, as though he was about to walk around the table, but Mexico took the same amount of steps backwards so the distance between them remained the same. Frustrated, Allende spoke again, "I made a deal with you and you honored it. Honestly, Alejandro, you are a country and you must bend your own desires to that of the majority on occasion. I'm sorry that this isn't to your taste, but it's for your own good." The last statement made Mexico bristle. He felt like he was being chastised like an irrational child. He could feel his temper start to boil.

When his voice came out again, it was deeper and colder, "Don't patronize me, Ignacio. If I were to truly be with the majority, I would be in Mexico City by Antonio's side. I'm here which should be enough to tell you that I have my own will, which takes precedence over anything else." Allende looked down, acting almost defeated. When he looked up, he said, "Is there nothing I can do to gain your blessing?" Mexico shook his head because it was the honest answer. Clearly, Allende could see through his lies. He coupled the gesture with a statement, "Short of handing me Antonio's head on a platter, no."

The mortal looked as though he had expected that answer, but was hurt by it all the same. Mexico didn't feel any sympathy for the man; after all, Allende had gone behind his back to make the decision. All he felt was a gnawing irritation at this display of emotions. Mexico turned to leave and was stopped when Allende said, "While you are getting your feelings off of your chest, is there anything else you would like to say to me?" The Aztec boy turned back around so he was facing the mortal again. He said, his voice colder still, "Miguel was twice the man you will ever be." Without waiting for a response, Mexico turned and left Allende standing there.  
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Mexico stopped, apparently because the emotions were too strong. He even stopped pacing and turned his gaze to his lover, "That was the last thing I ever said to him. It was our last conversation and I was cruel to him." America attempted to by sympathetic, "You had every right to be upset." But, as was usual, this was the wrong response. Mexico immediately responded, "No I didn't, I was being a prima donna. Ignacio had set up the entire independence; he was more involved than Miguel ever was. He didn't deserve any of that. And even with my cruelty, when he was executed he stood proudly as my champion."

America struggled to find something to say. He had nothing that he could compare it to in his own experience. None of his leaders had ever been executed by the British, so he never had the guilt of thinking back on an unintended last exchange. He had also never developed a dislike for one of his leaders the way Mexico had. So, he chose to move on, "Were you there when he was captured?"

Mexico shook his head, "I wanted to be there, but Allende wanted to make the deal and then send for me. I personally think he wanted to keep his distance from me after that conversation. Whatever the reason, I was not there during Spain's ambush." He took a breath and America realized how emotional he sounded. It was strange to hear especially from Mexico, who was usually so collected.

The blonde remained silent and Mexico continued, "I can't tell you how that kept me up at night. If I had been there, there would have been no way for me to get away. Antonio would have had me. It all could have ended right there." America's feeling of being a part of Mexico's defeat intensified. He could never have forgiven himself if the other had been captured by the Spanish, even though he wasn't actually involved in the trap. He chewed on his lower lip while he thought, "It was good that you were safe though." Mexico half-heartedly scoffed, more out of habit than out of scorn, "Safe? Let me tell you how it felt to be safe."  
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Mexico was livid about being left behind. True, he was with the army, but that didn't help. He felt slighted. He could have personally overseen the exchange of weapons with Alfred, but he was stuck here in a small town instead. He had nothing to do except wait for word, which should have come by now. Mexico was walking around just outside of the building he was currently residing in. His anxiousness had made it impossible for him to simply stay inside and wait. The feeling of uneasiness that had plagued him since he had first heard Allende's plan had now increased to an unending frenzy that he could not simply push to the back of his mind. Every moment that passed without news from Allende or one of the two other commanders he had taken with him magnified the feeling. Every time Mexico tried to sit and wait or occupy his mind with something else, the anxiety came surging back with sickening force. He couldn't stand it and he also couldn't explain it.

Philippines was watching him with some trepidation from where she was sitting on the porch of the building while she occupied her hands with braiding her long hair. Mexico could understand her fear, she had never seen him truly worried and now he was. She tried speaking, "You're going to wear a rut in the ground doing that! Don't be so worried, word will come soon." He didn't even look up at her as he responded; "We have been saying that for at least an hour. If there was word, it would have come by now."

As he spoke, he heard the gallop of a horse behind him and he turned to see Hidalgo on a horse ridding towards him. A strange relief washed over Mexico at the sight, although it didn't change the situation about which he was worried. When the priest was level with Mexico, he said, "What are you doing here? I though you would certainly be with Ignacio." The country shook his head slightly, trying to express what he was feeling in a gesture. He looked up at Hidalgo, who was still astride his horse, and said, "He told me to stay with the army. He went on ahead on his own and I have been stuck here waiting for news."

The priest caught the frustration in the boy's voice. He dismounted so they were at the same level. He reached out and put his hand on Mexico's shoulder, "You're worried, aren't you?" Mexico simply nodded, although the word didn't seem to describe the frenetic mix of emotions he was feeling. The priest nodded curtly as a sign of understanding. Then, the mortal mounted his horse again.

Mexico was shocked by the sudden action, "Where are you going?" Hidalgo replied quickly, "I'm going to go see what is keeping Ignacio. Don't worry, I will be back soon." Mexico wanted to say something to stop Hidalgo, to keep him here. But he swallowed his response, the paranoia was completely illogical and he shouldn't cave to it. So instead, he watched Hidalgo ride off in the direction Allende had gone a couple of hours before.

He exhaled slowly, attempting to calm himself. Even the warmth of the sun felt somehow tyrannous at the moment. It was too harsh, too warm, and too bright. Mexico couldn't stand it, just as he couldn't stand anything right now. Over on the porch, Philippines had watched his short conversation with Hidalgo in silence and finished braiding her hair. But, now she spoke directly to him, "Alejandro, please calm yourself. Come over here and sit with me." He sighed, simply out of exasperation, and decided that there was nothing better he could possibly do with his time.

He walked up to the porch and sat in the empty chair next to Philippines. Sitting felt completely wrong; it made him even more nervous. Philippines put her hand on his leg and it had a strangely comforting effect. She spoke, "Employ some of your control, because you're scaring me." A nervous laugh bubbled up in his throat as he realized the absurd role reversal. He said, his voice still sounding rather unsure, "Since when are you the controlled one?" Philippines leaned a little closer to him so their shoulders were touching, "Don't be stupid, it's out of character for you. Just take some deep breaths and wait."

The sun was beginning to near the horizon when the messenger arrived. The appearance of the mortal immediately told Mexico that he had been right to worry. The man looked battered to put it lightly; he was covered in dust and was cradling what appeared to be bullet wound to the shoulder. Mexico stood up at once. Philippines, who had fallen asleep against him, jerked awake when he moved. By the time she had realized that he had gone, he was already in front of the messenger, who was slowly making his way off of the horse.

Mexico wasn't the only one who had been waiting anxiously for news. Behind him, people were coming out of the buildings and forming a crowd. None of it mattered to Mexico; he was only interested in the shaking man who was slowly descending from the horse. As soon as the man looked up after guiding himself to the ground, his eyes met Mexico's. Without any niceties, Mexico immediately said, "What happened?" The mortal's eyes widened and he had to grab his horse's mane to steady himself.

What was left of Mexico's patience failed, and he reached out with both hands and put them on the man's shoulders. He could feel the man wince as his hand touched the bullet wound on the man's shoulder. Mexico couldn't bring himself to care; he needed his answer. He repeated, "Tell me what happened!" The mortal looked directly at him, eyes still unimaginably wide, and said, with his voice shaking, "It was a trap. The Spaniards were there to ambush us." Mexico could hardly believe what he was hearing. He tightened his grip on the mortal's shoulders, "What happened to Allende?" The mortal slowly shook his head as though attempting to ward off an unbearable thought. His voice was completely hollow when he responded, "They're all gone. Every single one of them."

Mexico understood what this meant in unbearable clarity. His heart seemed to stop, his breath hitched in his throat. His hands fell from the mortal's shoulders. In a numb mindlessness, he turned and pushed his way through the hushed crowd. Once he was about a foot from the side of the crowd, the news finally hit him. The ground beneath him felt like it had disappeared and only seemed to reappear when both of his knees hit it. He could feel his heart bleeding in his chest; it hurt unbearably. He put both of hands to his face and could feel water on his face, which he knew must be tears although he did not remember crying. He couldn't force himself back to a standing position; he was in too much agony.

He felt a pair of hands on his shoulder and looked up at Philippines, who was standing next to him. She grabbed one of his arms and pulled him up. His legs felt like they wouldn't hold his weight. He felt like he was in a haze, nothing seemed real except the crushing reality that all of his leaders were now in Spanish hands. He felt Philippines settle him down in a chair. Mexico finally spoke and his voice sounded weirdly strangled, "I should have been there."

Philippines responded angrily, "What would you have done? If you had been there, Spain would have you by now!" Mexico wasn't really listening to her, he continued to talk more to himself than to her, "I could have done something, changed something." Philippines glared at him. Without any warning, she slapped him.

It was tactile enough to break through what he was feeling; the paralyzing grief was suddenly spiked by rage. When he looked at Philippines and really saw her for the first time since hearing the news, she said with wetness in the corners of her eyes, "Don't you dare say that. If I lost you, I would have nothing left. I need you, so don't you dare start regretting."

All of the emotions that had welled up were quickly being replaced with the icy rage that had been fighting with the emotions. He should be blaming Spain, not himself. That was very clear. Self pity and blame would do him very little good at this point. What he needed to do was avenge, not grieve. He said, his voice returned to its usual neutral tone, "Thank you, Piri, I needed that." He stood up and took a couple confident steps. He spoke, voicing the rage that was now filling him, "I will make Antonio pay; he will regret this eventually." The Asian girl nodded and said, "That sounds more like you. What is the next step?" Mexico thought back on a conversation and said; "Miguel told me I should go to Morelos, so that is my next avenue."


	41. Chapter 41

Mexico stopped talking again and looked at America, whose mouth was slightly agape and whose eyes were wide. He attempted to speak in response to Mexico's story, "Alejandro, I'm sorry…I had no idea." Mexico scoffed and turned away from America, "How could you have known? My traitor brother has always speaks as if I never suffered. Like I am some entitled boy." He took a few steps farther away from his lover. The fire in his blood was undeniable now. Memories of rage always brought this up in him. America couldn't possibly understand this feeling; his nature was not made of the same fire.

The blonde tried to change the subject with some difficulty, "So, what happened after that?" Mexico continued talking, only slightly paying attention to America, "What could I do? I took what army I had left and went to find Morelos. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. You know how it is, we as countries have a sixth sense for finding where we are destined to be." America nodded, but something else seemed to be on his mind.

He soon voiced it, "I'm sorry, Alejandro, but can you clarify what exactly your relationship with Philippines was, because it's sounding romantic to me." Mexico turned back around so that he was completely facing the American. The look on his face was one of utter disgust, "What you're thinking of is like incest to me. I have said it many times and I will say it again: Piri is like a sister to me." It was a comment meant to make America feel ashamed about the allegation and it worked to an extent. He decided not to pursue the subject further, although he still had his suspicions. Mexico took it as a victory and continued on with his story.  
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The camp was set up outside of a town in the Southern part of the country, but this was only a transitional phase. Mexico had taken almost all control of what remained of the army, but it didn't mean much with how small the group had become. The trek south had been a solemn affair for Mexico, who had withdrawn from almost everyone. In the days since the ambush, Mexico had spent a lot of time by himself, seeing no one save Philippines. It was not sulking; he refused to call it sulking. It was planning by himself in isolation. All he could think about was how he was going to make Spain suffer. He had already struck the emotional blow, but he hadn't done enough damage to Spain yet.

Upon reflecting on it, Mexico had realized that his point had not been fully made; in some ways, Spain must still be blaming Hidalgo. The ambush itself had been vindictive in nature; Mexico could clearly see that now. At the moment, Mexico was sitting in his tent completely alone looking over a set of maps for what felt like the millionth time. He had decided to head South because he knew from Hidalgo's papers that the South was where Morelos had been leading a campaign, with quite a bit of success. Mexico didn't know what to expect of the man, but the military record was at the very least impressive. This kind of military skill could get him Mexico to the capital with an army at his back, which would allow him to fight Spain again.

Mexico started to roll up the maps. They no longer served as an adequate distraction from the thoughts pounding through his head. This wait was frustrating, Mexico wanted to strike a blow against Spain as soon as possible, but he was stuck trying to pull his army back together. As he stood up to put the maps away, he heard the clearing of a throat behind him. He turned and saw Philippines standing at the entry to his tent holding a letter. She looked slightly concerned. Without even introducing her purpose, she walked directly up to Mexico and said, "You haven't been sleeping, have you?"

He shook his head slightly. It wasn't a case of total insomnia, it was fitful sleep. Whenever he was asleep, Mexico relived his last minutes with Hidalgo and Allende. He bitterly wished he could have changed something. He always woke up exhausted, so it felt like there was almost no point in sleep. Philippines continued, "You look terrible, well still better than most people, but terrible." Mexico felt suddenly unfairly scrutinized, since the news of the ambush it seemed that Philippines had gotten far more casual with him.

He took a small step back, "You are far too comfortable. What is that letter?" She looked at him defiantly, "It's your reply from Morelos. I don't understand why you felt the need to write ahead." Mexico reached down and took the letter. He started to explain his reasoning while breaking the seal on the letter, "Imagine you're in his position: You have no idea that countries exist in human form, you've just lost your commander to a Spanish ambush, and someone shows up claiming to be the representation of your country telling you you're the heir to the independence effort. Would you trust this person? I certainly wouldn't." Philippines nodded, but didn't remove her gaze from his face. As he unfolded the letter, Mexico continued to speak, "So, I will correspond with him by letter until he trusts me to show up at his door."

He looked down at the letter and quickly read through it. His first reaction to the words on the page was one of relief. Mexico spoke his revelation because Philippines was watching his with a sense of anticipation, "Miguel spoke to him about me when they met. He says I should come to him as soon as possible. This certainly helps the situation." She nodded in response and said with a slight smile, "Hidalgo really cared about you, he did a lot to make sure you had a place to go if he failed." These words actually made Mexico feel worse; he didn't want to reflect on how he had failed the man who had done so much for him. The situation was a good as it could possibly be and he didn't need another decent into depression.

He slowly folded the letter up and placed it on the table next to the newly rolled up maps. Mexico's mind was processing the information; the letter was certainly good news if it could be believed at face value. But, he couldn't take it completely at face value because he had not met the mortal, and could for that reason, not trust him. Still, it would be foolish not to take the chance now that it presented itself. Perhaps most telling was that Mexico couldn't feel the gnawing of distrust in the pit of his stomach as it had before the ambush. Something had made him very uneasy when he had heard of Allende's plan to go North, and he now knew he had been right to be worried. His instinct, which seemed to be attuned to danger more keenly than he had ever dared believe before, was giving him no indication that there was anything to be feared.

However, even without the sense of safety, the decision was made. He couldn't do anything with the army he had left, and he needed a mortal leader. He himself could not serve as a figurehead for the army because the country needed to be understood as an abstract concept, not as a person. Even if it was somehow a trap, Mexico was at the point where he would welcome a trap. Constant waiting was far worse than simply losing. It was decided, he would meet Morelos in a city the mortal had just captured. Philippines waited for him to respond, but he didn't.

When he did speak, his disregarded her comment, "Then it is decided, we will meet him tomorrow and he and I will discuss where we go from here." She voiced what he had just thought through, "Are you sure you can trust him? You only have a letter. Allende trusted a letter and we both know what that resulted in." Mexico shook his head slightly and replied, "I don't have much of a choice. I can either stay here and deteriorate still farther, or I can take my chances on the opportunity I still have. I choose to live, if I can." She nodded and continued to smile, "You may not look well, but you at least sound like yourself again." With that, she turned and left the tent again, her long black braid swishing behind her. 

Mexico brushed away the errant thought that he was sad to see her leave. Certainly, she had become invaluable of late, but he refused to believe that the dynamic between them was shifting. At the very most, she was becoming more of a sister and less of a subordinate. He stubbornly cleared his mind of the thought and went back to his work.  
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The next morning dawned surprisingly bright and warm, even unseasonably so. Mexico looked out over the camp, which was in the process of being dismantled. He was still waiting for the feeling of dread to sink in now that he finally had a plan again and was about to implement it. But, it still didn't come. In fact, he felt strangely lighter than he had felt for a while. He had not slept through the night before, but he had come far closer than he had in what felt like forever.

Mexico had dressed that morning in the best clothing he still owned, which amounted to everything that didn't have bullet holes or egregious blood stains. He was wearing a dark crimson jacket over a black shirt with a non-descript pair of pants and his somewhat abused pair of riding boots. There was something profoundly sad about the fact that his sword and the gold pendant around his neck had become the finest things about his outfit. Mexico had made the decision that it was best he go ahead himself to meet Morelos. If this was a trap, which continued to be a possibility, then it was set for him. Mexico would take the chance himself, but he wouldn't put anyone else in danger. Philippines was just behind him holding the reigns to his horse.

When he turned to look at her, he noticed that her complexion was brightened by something, perhaps only the gentle rays of the morning sun. She looked like she was glowing and the light wind made her black hair, now loose dance around her face in a way that was almost mesmerizing. But, Mexico had no time to dwell on her; he had other things to deal with. He walked over to her and took the reigns. The leather of the reigns was slightly worn from him using them so much of late. He quickly mounted the horse and made to leave. However, Philippines' voice stopped him, "How will I know if it is safe?" Mexico responded, "If everything goes as planned, I will send you a letter by midday and you will come to me tonight. If you do not hear from me, you will assume the worst. You are to tell the army to disperse and then stowaway on the first ship to Manila that you can find." She immediately reacted, "No! I won't-" He cut her off, "Don't you dare disagree with me now! I'm just trying to keep you safe." She looked like she wanted to disagree again, but she held her tongue. Mexico took this as a victory and kicked his horse into a full gallop.  
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The city was quiet, but the signs that there had recently been a battle were everywhere. Buildings had the telltale holes that only musket balls could leave and some of the lighter stones were still speckled with dark red. The people, however, did not look to be very perturbed. The letter had said that the officers had taken up residence in the house of the former Governor, who had been a loyalist. Mexico figured that it wouldn't be difficult to find. He found himself winding through most of the city before finding a large estate that seemed to be in the exact center of the city. The sprawling grounds seemed to be at odds with the city that surrounded them. However, such was to be expected of a city built almost entirely on trade. The house had likely been built before the majority of the trade boom and had been outside of the city when trade was scarce. As the city expanded, the house had been engulfed in city.

Mexico rode through the front gates, which were opened as if he was expected. In a way, he knew he was expected, but it was still strange to see the gates opened in such a welcoming manner. There were men in clothing that seemed like an attempt at uniforms flanking the door with rifles. One looked up as he approached, but the other remained oblivious. When Mexico dismounted and secured his horse, the guard who had taken notice of Mexico said something sharp to the other one, who finally looked up. Mexico took a particular interest in the man who had taken notice of him, the unsolicited interest of a mortal were always significant.

The man, who looked to be not much older than Mexico was physically, was markedly good looking in the rugged way that only those born to be unrefined could be. His face was framed by a set of incredibly pronounced sideburns. The color of his skin was darker indicated that he had some modicum of African blood in his veins. Most likely, he was a mulatto, which also indicated that his social status could not possibly be high. The only route of prestige for a mulatto was to rise through the clergy, which this man was clearly not doing. The gun he was holding looked to be in immaculate condition, and the confident grip on the firearm indicated that this man was more than familiar with the weapon.

It was this man that Mexico kept his attention fixed on, partially because he appeared to be the more competent of the two and partially because the country had felt an immediate connection with him. Mexico said with enough believable confidence, "Morelos is expecting me today." The other guard, the one Mexico paid no mind to say, "Did the colonel mention a visitor?" The other replied with a slight sigh of what was clearly exasperation, "He spoke about it in length more than once yesterday. You would remember these things if you actually listened." Mexico smirked to himself; there was something comfortingly familiar about the argument.

The first bristled at what he perceived as an insult, "How do you know this is who he meant? We can't trust everyone who just appears here." The response was swift and not exactly what he expected, "I feel like I can trust him. The colonel said there would be someone coming today, and now someone is here. It all seems to line-up well." The other mortal still continued to look unconvinced, so the mortal looked directly at Mexico and said, "I can trust you, right?" Mexico responded without a moment's hesitation, "Of course you can." The man nodded and turned to open the door. The ornate doors of the house swung open and Mexico took it as his invitation to enter and he walked past both of the guards. As he passed, he looked directly at the one who had recognized him initially and smiled. He could have sworn that the man winked in response.

On his walk through excessively gilded hallways, Mexico's mind remained stuck on the man he had met at the door. It was a strange thing to find someone who had such a magnetic pull on him so soon after he had lost Hidalgo. There was even a little guilt that accompanied the feeling. He was here to meet the man that Hidalgo had personally selected to lead the independence to completion, and yet he was drawn to somebody else. It felt somehow like infidelity. He tried to shake off the feeling as his instinct guided him to a single unguarded door. He wondered for a moment if he should just open the open the door, but he decided that it was smarter to just knock.

There was a moment of silence after he knocked, but it was broken by the reply, "Come in." Mexico turned the gold knob and opened the door into an airy lounge, which was filled with décor that most likely belonged to the previous owner. But, Mexico's attention was drawn to the only other person in the room. The man was dressed like a priest, but unlike Hidalgo, the man's skin color was not that of a creole. He was clearly not of the privileged class. When he spoke, it was in the ringing voice of a preacher, "When Miguel described you as an attractive mestizo boy of 18, I thought it was a vague description. But now that I see you, I can't think of any other way to describe you."

Mexico felt a small smile turn up the corner of his lips. He had not trusted this first meeting to go this well. Morelos continued to talk, and as he did Mexico watched his gestures to get a better read on the man, "But you represent everything that this is country in every way, I see that now. Youth, beauty, and life all constrained by the tyranny of Spanish domination. I want to bring you independence if I can." Mexico was perplexed, he had expected to see or hear an undertone of ulterior motive, but all he saw in the man was nationalism, burning like a blue flame, hot and pure. He had never seen this kind of purity before, not even in Hidalgo. Seeing it made his heavy heart feel much lighter. Certainly, Hidalgo couldn't be forgotten or replaced. But even in this short time, Mexico realized that this was the man in front of him was the heir to the independence.

Mexico finally responded, "I wish I could say that I am happy to be here, but we both know that tragedy has brought me here. I mourn Miguel. As much as I want to save him, I know that there is no way to save him." Morelos nodded and a knowing gleam appeared in his eye, "I know what you must be feeling right now. Miguel was an extraordinary man and I know I can't replace him. I don't intend to replace him, I intend to not let his work go to waste." Mexico nodded; glad to see humility for once. After the egotism he had had to preside over with Hidalgo and Allende, this deference to someone else was refreshing. His response was short, "Then I am glad to call you my general." Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them that was beyond words.

With the sentiments out of the way, Morelos turned to the practicalities. The next thing he said was, "You letter said you had the rest of Miguel's army with you. How long would it take to get them here? I have plans for a Southern campaign, but I don't want to begin until I have the entirety of the force. You must know that we cannot go north, we don't have the ability to overtake the Spanish right now." Again, Mexico nodded and gave the response he had prepared earlier I the day, "I need only send a letter to Philippines and she will bring the rest of the army. Antonio may think he has me cornered, but I know there is hope yet."

Morelos responded with a slight smile, "Are you always this brusque? I will leave you to write your letter and you can join me later in the dining room to discuss the plans for the campaign. Thank you for coming to me, Mexico." The country turned to face the mortal and said, "Call me Alejandro. One more question: Who is the your guard with the sideburns?" Morelos raised one eyebrow slightly, but he quickly responded, "His name is Guerrero, he's a gunsmith from Tixtla. His aim is impeccable and I trust him."  
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After a late night of looking at maps and planning troop movements, Mexico felt thoroughly exhausted, but confidant. The plans that he and Morelos had been laying out seemed practically flawless. He walked back to the room that had been assigned to him. For this first time in weeks, he was ready to fall into a dark dreamless sleep. When he entered his room, he noticed that Philippines was sitting on his bed. His immediate response to the situation was that his heart started to thunder in a way that was completely uninvited.

He said tersely, "What are you doing in my room, Piri?" She smiled and stood up, saying as she did so, "I don't have a room right now. I guess I'm supposed to sleep with you." Mexico snorted, but was too tired to fight, so he said, "Fine, you can sleep next to me. Just don't try anything. You cut my throat in my sleep, you go back to Spain." She nodded again and her smile got still wider. Mexico crawled into bed and she followed him. Philippines curled up with her head against his chest and he casually put one hand around her shoulders. He closed his eyes and soon started falling into sleep. As he faded out of consciousness, he heard Philippines whisper in his ear, "Goodnight, my Aztec prince."


	42. Chapter 42

When Mexico woke the next day, she was gone already. As for the phrase he had heard when he had been drifting off to sleep, he couldn't be certain if he had actually heard it or if he dreamt it. But, for weeks he had distractions to take his mind off of it. First, there always seemed to be more training and preparation. He was almost constantly wondering through the city visiting some barrack or another. Being constantly busy was a welcome experience; it kept Mexico focused and productive and more importantly it kept his mind off his failures.

But, whenever he let himself stop moving and just think, he though about his final conversation with Allende or the final smile Hidalgo had given him. The memories brought back terrible crippling feelings of regret. It was at those times that he felt drawn to alcohol, which helped him numb the feeling. He wondered how long it had been since the ambush. He remembered receiving a letter telling him of Allende's execution. The man had been shot in the back as a sign of dishonor. Mexico knew it wasn't what Allende deserved. He had put Allende in that position and he regretted it. It was worse when he was alone, so he tried to keep himself in the company of others.

The night was very nearly starless, what had appeared to be a patchwork of clouds in the sweltering day had become a blanket that made the sky endlessly black. Even the moon was hidden by a swath of clouds. Mexico was standing on the balcony looking out over the town. The lights of buildings and fires were shining in the millions, but they didn't make Mexico feel anything. He had seen the same mass of people when he had been about to take the capital back and it had meant nothing. This time he had attempted to change the circumstances and taken time to instill discipline, just as Allende had always insisted was integral.

He heard the footsteps behind him but didn't turn. He already knew that there was only one person who would be here with him right now. Morelos spoke, "What do you think of our army?" Unlike Hidalgo, Morelos didn't touch Mexico. Mexico couldn't quite decide if he missed feeling the hand on his shoulder, that simple paternal gesture had been very comforting. But, it was something he only associated with Hidalgo.

He responded to the question, "They're impressive. Our preparation seems to have paid off." He looked over at Morelos and noticed that the man was looking directly at him. There was care in his eyes, but it was still cautious. Mexico had been hesitant to let the mortal in, despite the innate connection he felt, because he feared that the man would end up like Hidalgo. But still, there was the shadow of a warm smile on the mortal's lips. He asked, "Do you think it is finally time to start the attack then?"

The words hung in the air for the moment while Mexico thought about them. After retreating for so long and waiting, he desperately wanted to get back on the attack. The thrill of victory would certainly help lighten the weight on him. He wanted to say yes, almost needed to say yes for his own sake. But, caution held him back. Only after a momentary silence did he say, "Yes, I think so. It's time to take the first step."

He took this to be the end of the conversation, but Morelos continued to look at him and eventually said, "Hasn't it been long enough to let them go?" The tone indicated who he was talking about and it made the question hard to answer. At least theoretically, it was time to move on. But, he was having trouble letting go of his failure and what it had cost him. Mexico responded with a quick shake of his head. Morelos seemed to accept this for now, but he still looked concerned, "Then we will move out first thing in the morning." Mexico responded with a nod, trying to muster the enthusiasm he should feel. Before every other offensive, he had felt excitement or foreboding. At the present moment, he felt nothing. Bloodshed would have to reawaken him that was the only answer.

The sun rose dark orange the next morning, staining the sky. Mexico awoke as soon as the sun rose after a particularly restless night. It wasn't the overwhelming feeling of danger that he had felt before. It was just certain reluctance. He could even say that it may have been the foreign sensation of self-doubt. He had made mistakes before, and now faced with the idea of doing battle under the command of a new leader, there was no guarantee that he would not make them again. But, the doubt would fade with success, he was certain of that.

He got out of bed quickly and started to dress in complete silence. The major advantage to again being in a town instead of an encampment was that he again had decent clothing. This had been a large trading city and finery was not hard to come across. His shirt was perfectly white again, not marred by bullet holes or blood. The wound on Mexico's side had healed enough that it was not likely to split open and bleed again. His jacket was also new, black edged with red and stitched with gold. He had declined a new pair of boots and instead decided to get his repaired and resoled. They now shone with a new coat of polish; they looked like they had never been worn before.

He strapped a knife to the inside of his wrist; just in the off chance he needed it. Next, he attached the scabbard and his sword to his belt. The final touch was to tuck both of his pistols into his belt. Having a full compliment of weapons helped his confidence, but using them against someone would do even more. Mexico turned toward the mirror hanging on the other side of the room and surveyed his appearance. With proper clothing, he once again looked the part of an officer; one might even say there was even something majestic in his look. The days of rest and training had done wonders for his appearance. The dark circles had disappeared and there was something of a sparkle in his eye. But, the life he had had when Hidalgo had declared the beginning of the independence still evaded him.

He finished his inspection and turned away from the mirror and walked over to the window. From here, he could see the entirety of the courtyard laid out below him. He didn't expect to see anyone awake at this hour, but there was a solitary figure below. He recognized the guard he had noticed him on his arrival. He had seen the man around, but the contact had been limited. Mexico had thought about it, how the man seemed completely unimportant and had taken notice of him all the same. The nature of being a country was to be invisible to most people, those mortals who took notice had to be important for some reason.

Mexico watched the man walk across the courtyard and started to analyze his gate. The long strides were confident and sweeping, there was even something of a swagger to it. It was mesmerizing to watch him walk. Mexico felt himself tempted to walk down and strike up a conversation with the mortal, but he restrained himself. He had too much going on to try and involve himself with a mortal. Still, he found himself biting his lower lip thinking about all the ways the mortal might be important to him.

Finally he decided to turn away from the window, but he didn't move. It seemed like just a few more minutes would be worthwhile. The mortal turned and looked around behind him. Then he looked up at the windows and his eyes caught Mexico's. In that moment, Mexico realized that the mortal had actually seen him. His voyeurism had not been intended to be seen by anyone. His first response was to smile and nod slightly, just to show the mortal that he was looking at him. The other responded with a small salute and a smile. Finally, Mexico turned away from the window and went back to getting ready for battle.  
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Philippines handed him the reigns with a look of suspicion. Mexico took them silently and began to walk away, but Philippines walked with him and eventually said, "What happened this morning?" He stopped, his horse snorting in protest to the sudden stop, and said, turning to look at Philippines, "What do you mean?"

She smirked and looked up at him, "You're acting different. You're smiling to yourself." Mexico responded quickly, "Is that so unusual?" She smiled at the obvious resistance to the question. She said, "Of late? Yes. It's good to see you act like yourself again." A deviant thought crossed Mexico's mind and he voiced it, "Oh, do you think I'm more attractive this way, Piri?"

Her eyes widened and she took a tiny step backwards. She looked like she had been caught in the middle of something. She spoke, "Alejandro, you should go. You have a battle to win." It was clear from her tone that she was simply trying to avoid continuing the conversation. Mexico ignored that it was an obvious dodge; complications with Philippines were not necessary right now. He said, "We can speak about this later, if you wish. For now, I need you to watch my back and use those lovely knives to kill whoever threatens me." She nodded and said, "Of course." Satisfied that she would protect him with her life out of love or duty, Mexico rode off to find his leaders.  
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Mexico was riding right behind Morelos in the convoy as they rode out of the city. Because of the new discipline, the soldiers were riding by rank. Mexico was at the front with the other officers. He was thinking about the battle he was riding towards. They were attacking a large city that was central to the loyalists in the South, and it was not going to necessarily be easy. A couple units had already been dispatched to soften the defenses with canon fire. If everything went as planned, it would be easy for ground troops to take the city without a siege. This would certainly be a good victory to replenish his confidence, but a defeat after all of his work would be crushing.

Mexico was deep in thought when he felt the air shift around him. He glanced to the side to see a man on a strong chestnut stallion riding by quickly. He rode only a short distance farther and stopped next to Morelos. When he turned his head to speak to Morelos, it became clear that it was again the guard with the impressive sideburns. He delivered some news to Morelos, who nodded in response. The mortal then turned and caught Mexico looking at him. The man smiled and it was a charming cheeky smile. Mexico felt a small flutter in his chest.

The man slowed his horse so that he was soon riding right next to Mexico. Once they were side by side, the man extended his hand and said, "We've never been properly introduced. I'm Vicente." Mexico felt himself smirk, "Do you always introduce yourself with only your first name?" Guerrero smiled as he said, "No, but I only want you to refer to me by my first name." It was a clever response and Mexico appreciated the wit of it. The brash confidence reminded Mexico of his own less cynical days. It was warming, especially when he was so stressed. He replied by taking the hand and shaking it firmly, "Then I shall. My name is Alejandro."

When he released the hand, the mortal immediately said, "When I rode up, I noticed you're carrying a pair of pistols." The pistols were firmly in the back of his belt, which indicated to Mexico where the mortal's eyes had been. He responded without letting on what he suspected, "Ah yes, Jose told me you were a gunsmith before you joined the independence movement." The mortal nodded again with a slight smile, apparently glad to have someone interested in his past. He responded, "A man must have skill if he doesn't have the money or connections for schooling. For me, weapons have always held a certain fascination."

Mexico reached back and pulled one of the pistols. He handed it to Guerrero, who took it with the utmost respect for the weapon. Mexico still had one hand on the reigns of his horse, but the other was steering with only his knees while using both hands to handle the gun. His voice was full of admiration when he spoke again, "This is beautiful craftsmanship. The shot must be accurate." Mexico nodded and responded, "It hasn't failed me yet." The mortal ran his hand slowly up the barrel of the gun, "So, these beauties have seen battle. I wonder how many lives these have ended."

Mexico felt a small smile curl over he lips. He liked the barely concealed edge of brutality; it wasn't even concealed by the culture imposed by education. He answered, "A fair few. These have shed Spanish blood." Guerrero stopped moving his finger and said, "I can feel that. How thoroughly do you clean these?" Mexico leaned over to try to see what the mortal was so fixated on. He said softly, "Why do you ask?" The mortal responded, "Put your finger here."

He complied and reached across to put his hand on the gun. The other's hand was on top of Mexico's guiding his finger. Guerrero spoke, "You feel that? That's the first sign of blood residue corroding the metal." Mexico could indeed feel a small spot that was rougher than the surrounding metal. There was something more beneath the surface of this interaction and Mexico could feel it.

However, the moment was shattered by the thunderous sound of cannon fire. It was a clear reminder that this casual conversation was happening in the middle of the war. Mexico was letting himself get distracted and that was dangerous. He looked up at the horizon. He could see the battered walls of a city. He took his pistol back with no resistance from the mortal. He quickly tucked it back into his belt and then turned his attention forward. With a quick nod to Guerrero, he urged his horse forward faster so that he could go around the outside of the column. He rode up to Morelos and spoke to the other, "How are we doing?"

His commander responded, "Better than expected. The past few days have weakened their defenses. It should be an easy charge to take the city." They reached the top of a ridge and stopped. The canon battery was set up here to be able to reach the highest points in the city. The wind whipped over the ridge, making Mexico's hair flutter. He felt his heart rise in his throat, his blood growing hot at the idea of fighting again. He stood up slightly in his stirrups. It seemed that after so many battles, this wouldn't be so exciting any more. But, this felt all new again.

The canon fire stopped on Morelos's signal, leaving the air ringing and full of the heavy smell of gun smoke. The mortal finally turned to Mexico and said, "I'm going to signal the first wave. You should stay here." The last sentence made Mexico bristle, "Why should I stay back?" He already knew the answer and didn't want to hear it. He got the answer he was expecting, "You are far too precious to risk. I want to keep you safe."

Mexico growled slightly in the back of his throat, "I don't want to be safe. I won't stand by this time." He stood up all the way in his stirrups and said, continuing his thought, "I will fight, whether you want me to or not." The other sighed and said, "I can't stop you. But be careful, I don't want to lose you." Mexico scoffed, "Don't worry, I won't get myself hurt, not this time."

When the mortal gave the signal, Mexico kicked his horse into full gallop and steered it down the hill. With the wind rushing through his ears and the smell of gunpowder and smoke filling his nose, he felt completely alive again. He could feel a satisfied smile curl across his face. No matter what doubts he had, this moment was pure exhilaration. The front gates of the city had understandably been closed and bolted, but the wood had been blown to pieces by cannon fire. Mexico allowed a few infantry soldiers to go through the door ahead of him. He knew that the first round of fire would be the one set up for the first wave of enemies. Those who went through the bottleneck first would be the victims of the first and only organized volley of musket fire. It was better to wait until the sound of shots had gone silent.

Then, he rode his horse through the broken gate. As expected, he had to navigate his stallion over and around dead bodies. But, he managed to catch the defenders while they were still attempting to reload. Mexico charged right at the line of defenders, knocking them aside. He pulled back on the reigns and his horse reared, kicking out its legs to hit a loyalist solider squarely in the chest. There was the distinct sound of the crushing of bones as the hooves hit flesh.

Mexico kept one hand on the reigns and drew a pistol with the other. When the front hooves of his horse hit the ground, he aimed and fired. The bullet hit a man in the chest and he fell. Mexico could hear gunfire behind him, which meant that he was not alone. The small detachment of defenders soon fell under a hail of gunfire. His blood alive with the thrill of combat, Mexico urged his horse forward through the streets, each gallop sounded like a crack of thunder. As he progressed, he expected to see more enemies. But, they seemed to all be gathered in the center of the city. It was the smartest strategy defensively; the center of the city was the most defensible and it would allow them time while the attackers had to organize themselves.

Mexico stopped and waited while the rest of the army to catch up. As much as he would like to go charging through, he had the caution to wait. He stood up on his stirrups with anticipation. It took a couple minutes for enough of the force to catch up with him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Morelos approach him, there was a sense of relief in the man's bearing. He spoke to Mexico, "You certainly have bravado, but you can't just charge off like that." Mexico nodded and said, "The job isn't done yet. We need to have the whole city."

The mortal responded quickly, "Are you going to ride off on your own this time?" The country smiled, his recklessness had apparently been worrying. He replied, "I think I've had my fill for now." It was not entirely true. He could feel the thrill of battle in the air, but he had done enough to worry his leader for a day. For now, his rage could be ignored. The other man nodded, "Good." He shouted orders to the ranks that had formed around them. He explained to Mexico, "I'm having them encircle the loyalists. It should be short." His words were followed by the distant distinct sound of steel hitting steel and the firing of guns. Mexico slowly lowered himself back into the saddle. The feeling of being antsy overwhelmed him. He had held back from one too many battles and feeling of being restrained was becoming irritating.

The noises of battle died down and as the silence stretched on, Mexico became more confident that the fighting was over. With a slight glance at Morelos, he started to urge his horse forward. The mortal followed closely after him. They entered the central plaza of the city to see what remained of the defending force was on its knees surrounded by insurgent soldiers. Mexico felt a small laugh bubble up in his throat. All of his doubts had been completely unfounded. This couldn't have gone more perfectly.

The pair of them rode up to the front steps of the central building. The flag of the Spanish empire was flying over the building. To Mexico it was an eyesore. Morelos spoke to one of the men at his elbow, "Take down the Spanish colors and run up our own." As the man vanished, carrying the flag of the insurgents with him, Morelos turned to Mexico and said, "Do you feel better now." He responded with a smile as he saw his own flag raised into the sky, "I feel fantastic."  
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Mexico was in a new room after capturing the city. He was slowly taking off his weapons. He started with his sword, laying it out on the bed. He hadn't even drawn this today. He was glad for it though because he was saving this steel for Antonio. He unstrapped the small knife from his wrist and laid it on the bed next to the sword. He then reached for his pistols next, but when he pulled them out of his belt, he paused. He thought about the conversation he had with Guerrero earlier. It had been ended rather unceremoniously. It wouldn't be hard at this moment to find the man and continue the conversation. He could take the pistols with him for pretense, but it seemed like a front. What he really wanted to know was how this man was important to him.

If patterns could be trusted, Guerrero was most likely guarding the front door. Mexico walked over to the window and brushed back the curtain. If the mortal was on guard duty, he should be able to see the man from here. Sure enough, he could see Guerrero sitting on one of the steps with his rifle across his knee. The man was focused on the task of polishing his rifle, so this time he didn't bother to look up. It took very little conscious deliberation for Mexico to decide that he did want to talk to the man, who looked so handsome in the moonlight. He left his pistols on the bed and walked out.

He reached the front door and opened it with a single motion. Guerrero was the only one standing guard and he turned to look as the door opened. He smiled and said, "Alejandro, I was hoping I would see you off the battlefield." Mexico walked over to him and, without waiting for an invitation, sat down next to the man. He saw the other's smile widen slightly. He said, "I found myself wondering about you. How did you find yourself in this part of the country as a part of this war?" Guerrero laughed slightly and said, "How? I imagine the same way you did. I decided to fight for what I believe in."

He stopped for a second and then apparently decided to elaborate, "My father supports the Spanish government, but I didn't agree. When he asked for my sword to present to the viceroy, I told him that his will was sacred, but my fatherland came first. I believe in this country and I am willing to die for it, aren't we all?" Mexico felt warmth in his chest, and he knew it was due to the nationalistic pride. He said, "That's a beautiful sentiment." The mortal put aside his rifle and turned completely to look at Mexico. There was a glint in his dark eyes, and he spoke, "But that's enough about me. What's your story? Since the day you arrived, you have interested me."

Mexico had to think about his response. If he told the truth, then he would have to be delicate with it. But, he had not figured out why this man was important to him, so it might be prudent to wait until he knew so that he could reveal his true identity at the right time. For now, he could reveal only the partial truth as he did with Hidalgo. So, he said, "I hardly remember my father, he died when I was very young."

The mortal was listening with patient interest. When Mexico stopped speaking, he replied, "Your mother must have been an incredible woman." Mexico responded with a bittersweet laugh, "She was, but she also died when I was young." The realization dawned across the other's face, "Oh, you're an orphan." The conversation would have continued, but the hurried sound of footsteps interrupted.

Philippines walked up and looked directly at Mexico. He spoke, "Alejandro, a letter came for you. I don't think it's good news." She extended her hand with a letter. Mexico took it and opened the wax seal with his finger. He unfolded the letter and read through it. His heart sank out of his chest. He had expected this news, even braced himself for it, but it still came as something of a shock. The paper held news of Hidalgo's execution. The execution had only taken this long because of the process of excommunication and condemnation by the church. The pause had lulled Mexico into thinking that he would never get the news of Hidalgo's death.

But, that was only the beginning of the letter. As Mexico read farther, he began to feel queasy. The rest of the letter dealt with what had been done with the body. The priest had been beheaded and the head was now being displayed prominently beside that of Allende. Mexico turned and without a word to anyone walked back into the building. He needed to find Morelos. There was a thought blooming in the back of his mind and he needed to talk to his leader about it. His mind was a dizzying mixture of disgust and boiling rage.

He found the right door surprisingly quickly. He opened it without even knocking. He was in no mood to practice courtesies. Morelos was sitting at a table writing a letter when Mexico came bursting through the door. He looked up and said, "What is the matter, Alejandro?" Mexico brandished the letter and said, "Have you heard about Miguel?" The other looked down mournfully and said, "Yes, I've heard it. It's unspeakably brutal."

The passive answer was not enough for Mexico, who said, "I want to go there. I want to see the heads." The other pushed his letter to the side and said with a sigh, "That could give you closure, but don't you think Spain will expect that?" Mexico shrugged. He hadn't even thought of that, but it didn't matter to him. He needed to see this to give him new fire for his rage. He needed to see it for his own benefit, he was certain of it. He responded, "I am determined to go. I don't want anyone coming with me."

Morelos shook his head, "I don't know, the idea makes me very uncomfortable." Mexico sighed, he wasn't giving this as an option, he was simply stating what he intended to do. So, he said, "There is nothing to discuss. I will leave first thing in the morning. If I don't return in three days, assume I am gone." With that, he turned and left the room.  
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In the morning, Mexico dressed before the sun was up. He didn't want to bring attention to himself, lest someone make a scene about him leaving. He strapped the knife to his wrist again and tucked his pistols into his belt. He left his sword where it was. The blade was far too conspicuous for this sort of excursion. He had dressed in less finery than before. His dress was designed to convey a sense of unassuming middle class. He had no reason to make himself more obvious than necessary for the sake of his own safety. He finished getting dressed and quietly walked out of the room. 

He walked through the silent halls and found his way to the stables. In the quiet of the morning, the whinnying of horses sounded remarkably loud. Mexico walked over to his black stallion and took the reigns. He patted the horse on the neck and said, "It's just you and me today. It's been a long time since that happened, huh?" The horse tossed its head, as though agreeing with him. Mexico felt himself smile, but it was short-lived. He knew what he was leaving to do and there was no levity in the situation. He mounted his horse and ran his hand softly over the black mane. He kicked his horse into full gallop. He was soon out of the stable, down the street, and riding off into the sunrise.

As he approached the city, Mexico realized why the name of this place had sounded so familiar. The last time he had ridden into this city it had been with an army at his back. The last time had been with Hidalgo and it had been a ride to victory. Now there seemed to be gloom in the air. The late day sun was hot and bright, but there was no real light in the streets.

As he got closer to where he knew the heads were mounted, his heart started pounding in his chest. His usually calm demeanor was starting to break down. He brought his horse to a stop and dismounted. From here on out, a horse like his would be conspicuous. He tethered the horse before continuing onward. It was late in the day and the crowd on the streets was sparse. At this point in the day, people were not likely to be out in the streets. As he walked toward the fortress, the streets were practically deserted. It added an eeriness to the occasion, as if the grotesque display was for him alone.

He kept his eyes on the space right in front of him. It wasn't that he was afraid to look up; he was waiting for the right moment to look up and see the horror that he knew was awaiting him. Finally, he knew he could postpone it no longer. He slowly looked up the wall, which appeared to be red in the late daylight. His eyes slowly met with a round object. It was momentarily silhouetted by the sun and appeared as only a black shape. Still an uncomfortable gnawing began in the pit of his stomach as he realized what this must be.

Then, the light shifted again and all of the features became clear. Mexico quickly covered his mouth to silence himself. He made something that was between a horrified gasp and a sob. He unconsciously took an uncoordinated step backwards. He couldn't stop himself from recognizing the features of the man he had confided in. The skin had turned white from loss of blood, the eyes had turned completely milky white and were turned up in the head, and the hair only remained in patches. But, it was too familiar all the same. Mexico felt a wave of utter revulsion wash over him. The bitter taste of bile was strong on his tongue. Had he actually eaten anything all day, he probably would have vomited. His hands began to shake.

He looked away; it was too much for him to take. His breaths were short and shallow. He couldn't get a breath all the way into his lungs. Each breath still sounded too much like sobs. He put his other hand to his cheek to feel if they were wet. Thankfully, he had not actually shed any tears. He was about to turn away when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. There were two soldiers in Spanish colors watching him careful. It dawned upon him that these two were probably placed here to look for him. The way their eyes were locked on him seemed to confirm it.

Mexico threw aside all of the emotion that he had been feeling; he couldn't afford it when he was in danger. He took a couple quick steps backwards and the pair of mortals took a couple steps forward. That was more than enough confirmation. He turned and took off running through the streets. He could hear the distinct sound of running footsteps behind him. He turned into a small empty courtyard. It didn't have an exit, but that was exactly what he was looking for.

He headed for one of the buildings on the side of the enclosed square. He pulled himself up against the wall. He was sure footed enough that he could climb the cracks in the bricks effectively. From this angle, it would be impossible for anyone entering the courtyard from the outside to see him. His back was pressed against the warm bricks of the building. He had one hand on the bottom of an overhanging balcony. With the other, he flicked his wrist so that his knife fell into his hand.

He waited as the two Spanish soldiers walked in. One turned to the other and said, "I could have sworn he went this way." The second mortal walked further into the courtyard, saying as he did so, "He couldn't have gotten out of here. Remember, our orders are to capture him alive." Mexico whispered to himself, "If it's brutality Antonio wants, I'll give it to him." His vision was tinged with red. If Antonio could kill with such impunity, so could he.

He threw himself off of the wall so that he was right behind the first solider. Before the man had any inclination what was happening. Mexico slipped the knife under the mortal's chin. The other man had turned and was pointing a pistol directly at Mexico. But, the man's hand was shaking and it was clear that he was not certain of the shot. Mexico smirked and said, "You're not going to shoot me; you don't have the nerve." As he was speaking, he drew one of his pistols. Without even flinching, he raised the gun and fired. He hit the mortal squarely between the eyes. The man's body fell to the ground, blood pouring from his head.

He then turned his attention to the man who was standing stock still under his knife. The man seemed like he was about to speak, but Mexico's rage wouldn't allow him to listen. He sunk the blade of the knife into the skin of the mortal's throat and drew it across in one smooth slow motion. Blood poured out of the man's throat and down his chest. Mexico let the body fall to the ground and turned away. He walked away, leaving both bodies where they were.


	43. Chapter 43

America attempted to speak, but Mexico put up his hand to stop it. He spoke to the American, "Don't say you pity me. I don't want your pity, Alfred." America again struggled to speak, "Your story is sad. You can't expect me to not express sympathy." He was standing up and gesturing as though he was trying to express something beyond words.

Mexico quickly corrected, "You can feel empathy, not sympathy. You've never lost someone so precious to you in such a gruesome fashion. But, I didn't feel sadness; I felt rage." He took a couple steps forward, completely unaware of the action. The echo of anger was still hot in his blood. 

He continued to speak, his pace increasing, "I promised myself that Antonio would pay for it in blood. Blood for blood was the only way." America's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed some bitter tasting words. He said, his voice sounding slightly restrained, "So, did he?" A cunning smile appeared on the Mexican's face, "Yes, oh yes. And in the midst of that bloodshed, I found something I had not expected."

America looked confused, and it was evident why when he said, "And what did you find?" Mexico continued to smile like a cat, "I found a ruthlessly ambitious man with a taste for cruelty. A perfect weapon really, the only problem was the side of the battle he was on. But, I always get what I want eventually."  
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Mexico returned in the dead of night, his rage finally drowning itself in drowsiness. He was too tired to bother anyone about his return. He returned to his room as quietly as possible, trying not to wake anyone else. He turned the doorknob slowly so it would not make a noise and walked into the room. The room was dark, but Mexico could clearly see a figure lying in his bed. He walked over to the windows and pulled back the curtains. Moonlight filled the room and made everything clear.

Philippines was curled up on top of the blankets, her black hair spilling out in tangles around her. Mexico sighed and walked over to the bed. He put his hand lightly on her face. She jerked awake, her dark eyes fixed on Mexico. He spoke, "Piri, what are you doing in my bed?"

She sat up and said, "Where have you been? I came to talk to you about the letter and found that you were gone. There was no letter and your sword was still here. What was I supposed to do?" He stood back and said, "Do I have to tell you about every move I make? I had to see if the letter was true." She quickly clambered off the bed and stood facing him, her eyes full of something purer than fury. She said, "I care where you vanish to!"

She took a step forward and slammed her hands against Mexico's chest. The strike was so unexpected that Mexico did nothing in response. She said, her voice shaking, "Why must you be so fucking selfish? I thought you'd lost hope and gone back to Antonio." Mexico finally decided to grab her wrists before she actually did harm to him. His fingers fit comfortably around her entire wrists. He said clearly, "Stop it, Piri. You used to trust me completely and I need that again."

She looked at her own hands and then slowly shifted her gaze to Mexico's hands. She changed the subject; "You have blood on your hands." Mexico responded to the unspoken concern, "It's not my own." He slowly let go of the girl's wrists. But, as soon as his fingers were off of the skin, she grabbed his wrists firmly. She sat back down on the bed, pulling Mexico down with her.

The moonlight played across her features and made it hard to read her eyes. She finally said, looking him directly in the eyes, "What happened?" Mexico thought about pulling his hands away from her to break this familiarity, but the position was comfortable enough. He responded shortly, "Everything in the letter was true. I needed to get revenge, so I killed. I didn't have time to wash off the blood." Her hands slipped off his and she stood up. Wordlessly, she walked into a small adjoining room.

A couple of minutes passed while Mexico wondered vaguely what Philippines was doing. He heard a splash, but thought nothing of it. Soon, the girl returned with a cloth in her hand. She walked back over to the bed and sat down facing him again. She only spoke again when she touched the cold wet cloth to the blood on his hand, "But how do you feel?" The cloth moved over Mexico's skin, erasing the blood.

There was something about this moment, about the depth in her ink black eyes, which made him realize that he had no reason to distrust her. He had held back before because he needed to guard himself. But he realized that she had come this far with him and had followed every order he had given. With Hidalgo unarguably gone, he had to share his feelings with someone and he had Philippines's obedience.

He responded without thinking about lying, "I feel rage and disgust. What else could I feel? But, I will make Antonio pay." Philippines started to work on the other hand, responding as she did so, "You will get your chance; I know it." Mexico fixed his eyes right on her and said, "Piri, I need to get some rest." She understood at once and nodded, "I should let you get some sleep." She looked around as though about to stand up, but she hesitated. She turned to him and said, "I glad you're back." She then turned and left.  
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The next morning, Mexico carefully composed himself. His rage from the night before had solidified into hate. It no longer required immediate action; it was simply another entry on Spain's list of sins. All he could do now was avenge it eventually. He walked down the hall, his mind completely clear and focused. He soon reached the door he was looking for, which was slightly ajar. He pushed it open to see Morelos leaning over a table, examining papers.

Mexico knocked on the wood of the door. The mortal turned and looked at him with a small smile. Mexico took it as an invitation and walked into the room. The other spoke, "How was your trip?" The tone of the question was light, but the meaning couldn't be clearer.

Mexico responded quickly, "As expected. I got what I needed out of it all the same." He meant that he had found a way to relight his fury. It also seemed that the experience had been cathartic, Mexico felt more levelheaded than he had for months. He walked closer to the mortal as he waited for a response. There was a flicker of concern in the mortal's dark eyes, which was strange. It was soon explained, Morelos spoke, "I'm glad to see you back. I got worrying news from one of our captives. It seems that Spain has promised prestige and position to anyone who brings you back to him."

What struck Mexico was not the danger this put him in. He thought about what this indicated about Spain. He must be desperate if he was willing to trust the common solider. He probably should have been more perturbed by the news, but he couldn't stir up the emotions. He responded, "Well, I suppose I have a target on my back." The other nodded and spoke, "I have already taken the liberty of assigning someone to guard you personally. I can't afford to lose you." Mexico felt a look of incredulity slip onto his face. He didn't want to be constantly watched over. It was the same ridiculous protectiveness that had been irritating from both Spain and Hidalgo.

The mortal was not oblivious to the look, and said, "I know you don't want it, but the protection is necessary. I assigned Guerrero to keep an eye on you. I've noticed that you've take an interest in him." This was at least welcome, even if Mexico still didn't want to have limitation or oversight. But a more important question surfaced in his mind and he asked it, "Did you tell him who I really am?" Depending on the answer, Mexico could begin to explore the connection between them. Morelos shook his head slightly, "Not yet. I told him you were important, and he didn't pry past that. He's just a common solider, after all." Mexico immediately responded, saying softly, "He's more than that."

However, the subject of the conversation changed. The mortal said, turning back to what he had been looking at, "But I'm not going to let it slow us down I already have our next target decided. We will attack this afternoon if you approve." It was a surprisingly bold move; especially considering this was the beginning of the campaign. Mexico commented on it, "Two cities in three days; is that even possible? Don't we need to reorganize and plan?" It sounded almost undoable, even theoretically. Mexico knew that there was another loyalist held city half a day's march away, but the idea of taking it still seemed completely improbable.

Morelos spoke to quiet the qualms, "It is completely possible. But, because it seems so unlikely, the defenders will not expect it. We will be able to catch them unprepared. They are expecting to have a few days to ready their defenses and we can afford to not give them that time." Mexico nodded; he couldn't deny that he longed to hear the thunder of the cannons again. It was better not to let his rage cool before another attack. He looked directly at the mortal and said, a small smile curling across his lips, "If it can be done, then I see no reason why it shouldn't be done." The other smiled shortly in response and said, "Then we will start marching soon."

The sun was still close to the horizon as Mexico walked into the stable to check on his horse. He had ridden hard the night before, and leaving again would be trying for his horse. Mexico's footsteps rang out against the floor as he walked. His horse seemed to recognize the sound of his footsteps and whinnied. Mexico walked over to the stallion and put his hand on the black flank, which was still heaving from the exertion of galloping back this morning. Mexico spoke, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to carry me again." The horse tossed its mane, apparently accepting the apology.

But, beneath the sound there was another. Mexico became distinctly aware of a set of footsteps behind him. He turned around quickly to see who was behind him. Guerrero was standing at the entrance to the stables, the sunlight filtering in around him. He spoke, a slight smirk on his face, "You have quick reflexes. I'm not entirely sure why you need my protection." Mexico let out a breath he had not known he had been holding. The news on the bounty on his head had apparently affected him far more than he had thought.

He responded, "I happen to agree with you, but Jose insisted." The other man took a couple steps forward and the light shifted across his eyes, revealing an inquisitive glimmer. He spoke, "But I'm even more intrigued about you now. What makes someone important in the Spanish leadership offer such a large bounty for you?" The tone was firm, which indicated that the man actually wanted answers. But, it would be hard to give the truth at this point. Mexico couldn't yet be certain of this man's role in events, so he couldn't reveal who he was with complete confidence. So, he said, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Suffice it to say that I have a guardian who is very influential in Spain. He is apparently desperate to get me back."

The mortal shook his head slightly, a dismissive gesture that showed that he didn't completely accept the story. But he didn't press the issue, instead changing the subject, "Well, it's a sizable bounty, it could be very persuasive." Mexico raised an eyebrow and said, "Then I am fortunate that you are such an idealist." The mortal smiled playfully and said, "That is true, but that certainly can't be said for everyone. Therefor, I think I should be with you constantly for your protection."

It was obvious that this was a ruse to spend more time with him. But, Mexico appreciated the audacity of it. He wasn't entirely sure how to classify his feelings about the mortal yet, but he did enjoy the raw nerve. There was something charming about the man's nature. Mexico responded, "I think that would be acceptable. On that subject, we should be leaving, Jose has a rather ambitious plan to put into effect." The other smiled and said, "Yes, I've already heard. I look forward to seeing you in the heat of battle again."

There was a strong tail wind as the army rode out; it felt like the wind itself was egging the action onward. Mexico felt a familiar swelling in his chest; it was the rising of excitement of impending battle. It was comforting to have the feeling again; it had been missing since the slew of losses. Having this rush of pure excitement was wonderfully uncomplicated; it meant that there would be little trouble with this battle. Mexico kicked his horse into a slightly faster trot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his personal guard speed up as well. Guerrero rode up to him and said, "Are you trying to lose me, or do you enjoy being chased?"

Mexico turned his head and caught sight of the mortal's face bathed in the light of midday. There was something about this angle and the golden light that made Mexico curious. However, he had war to focus on. The memory of heads mounted on spikes was still far too fresh in his memory for anything else to distract him. Still, he couldn't resist responding, "Or perhaps you just like chasing me." The other smirked and played along, "You are quite the quarry."

This small talk was interrupted by the deep bellow of canons. Mexico looked away from the mortal and realized how far they had already come. As promised, they had reached another loyalist held city with plenty of time to spare. Mexico's grip tightened on his reigns, his knuckles turning pale. He wanted to ride forward into battle, feel the rush of the wind on his face and adrenaline in his veins. But, he felt the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder. His mind immediately drifted to the way Hidalgo had always touched him in such a paternal way. It had been a soft connection that had broken through all of Mexico's walls. He turned his head to again see Guerrero, who had reached out to him. The man spoke, "Don't make this harder for me. If you ride off, I have to follow you."

But, Mexico could barely hear the words. His mind was stuck in the past, in the interactions that were lost now. His mind flashed between the conversations he had had with Hidalgo and the macabre image of the priest's disembodied head. Red-hot rage bubbled up in the pit of his stomach, red hot and bitter. His ears filled with the sound of canon fire and the shots of distant gunfire. It blended with the sound of Mexico's own heartbeat, which was now racing. He said under his voice, "Miguel."

A look of confusion flashed across Guerrero's face and he quickly said, "What?" Even with his heart pumping pure rage, Mexico had enough control to put up a wall of composure. He responded, "It's nothing." Inside he was seething, but there was no reason to let it show through. The simple touch had unlocked a cascade of emotions that Mexico had hardly been aware he was suppressing. But, he knew better than to act on it. The mortal still looked curious, but he didn't say anything.

In the distance, the sound of fighting and gunshots faded. Mexico took this to mean that the majority of the fighting was over and it would be safe to proceed forward. It was what he had been waiting for. He rode forward and soon found Morelos. He waited until he was right next to the man to say, "I take it we won." It was a pointless question, since Mexico could tell the answer from the demeanor of the people all around him. The mortal looked at him and said, "Yes, it was exactly as I planned, they were not expecting an attack so soon. Do you want to ride through the gates in triumph?"

This question was equally as pointless and Morelos knew it. It was only out of courtesy that he waited for Mexico's response. So, the country was quick to give it, "Of course." The pair of them rode forward, soon reaching the front of the city. There were surprisingly few bodies littering the street. It appeared that the city had surrendered quickly because they had been surprised by the sudden attack. Mexico couldn't help but feel disappointed. He wanted to see blood spilled, loyalist blood, Spanish blood. He hadn't even fired a single shot. The rage he was feeling could not go completely unappeased.

As they continued up the main street, there were sounds of a fight. Mexico immediately said, looking for an excuse to get involved in some part of the fight, "I'll go take care of it." He turned around to where his personal guard was still following behind him and added, "Alone if you don't mind." He wanted to be able to indulge in this by himself for the sake of his own revenge. He didn't wait for a response; instead he turned and rode off before anyone could say anything. He soon found the source of the sound.

A group of three loyalist soldiers was facing one insurgent solider. As Mexico drew closer, the insurgent leveled his pistol and shot. The shot smashed through one of the loyalist's leg, but didn't inflict a lethal wound. The man who had just been shot leveled his own pistol and fired. Mexico saw his own solider collapse and he knew the man was dead. Quietly, Mexico dismounted and walked closer. He pulled his pistol out of his belt and aimed at the back of one of the mortals. He fired.

The bullet hit the man in the back and went straight through the heart. Mexico stepped over the man's body, avoiding the slowly spreading puddle of blood, as he walked into the group of people and looked at the remaining two. The one who had been shot in the leg was using both of his hands to attempt to stop the flow of blood out of his wound. However, his eyes were the ones that locked on Mexico. He said, "It's him, the one with the bounty."

The statement made Mexico laugh; he knew that neither of these men actually had the ability to take him. He didn't respond, instead he pulled out one of his knives and took a step towards the man and sunk the blade into the soft flesh of the throat. He left it there as the blood poured down the mortal's chest. The man would die soon and Mexico knew it.

His attention then turned to the third solider, who was attempting to reload a pistol. But, his hand was shaking and he couldn't get the gun loaded. Mexico still had one loaded pistol, which he pulled from his belt and pointed directly at the mortal. He spoke, "Drop the gun. You won't win." The man, who appeared to be in his early 20s, dropped the pistol. He spoke, "I surrender. Please don't kill me." Mexico laughed; this was pathetic. He didn't want to give mercy, but the coward could serve a purpose.

He finally said, "I will grant you your life if you will relay a message for me. Run back to Mexico City and tell Antonio that if he wants me back, he'll have to come find me himself. Sending his dogs after me will do little good." The mortal nodded quickly in response. Mexico lowered his pistol so that it was pointing at the man's foot. He spoke again, "That is my deal, now go before I change my mind." When the man didn't immediately move, Mexico shot at the ground right next to the man's foot, saying as he did so, "Andele." The mortal immediately turned and ran.  
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America whistled and said, "That was a little cruel, don't you think?" Mexico scoffed, "Cruel? No, what Antonio did to me was cruel. I did what was necessary. I needed to let him know that he hadn't broken me, so I sent him a message the only way I could have." The blonde bit his lower lip as though attempting to stop himself from saying something. Mexico didn't miss the expression and responded to me, "You love to judge me, don't you? What would you have done in my position?"

America's blue eyes filled up with uncertainty. He spoke slowly, "I don't know what I would have done. But, terrorizing mortals isn't ethical for us." Again, Mexico scoffed, "Spare yourself the fight, don't be a hypocrite. You've done plenty of unethical things in your life." He then left a long silence for America to respond, but the other seemed to decide that silence was the best course of action. It was a welcome change; moments like this were usually how their fights started. With America still silent, Mexico changed the subject, "Anyway, that isn't important. We took the city easily. It was like that for most of the campaign. It was going perfectly, and I did get to spill the blood I longed for. So I don't bore you, I won't tell you much more about it. All I will say is that Morelos was a brilliant strategist. He moved quickly so he was able to have the element of surprise."

America finally cut in again, "That's great, but what about the man you mentioned? Where did he appear?" Mexico smirked at the impatient question; it was so typical of the American. He didn't mind skipping ahead for the sake of interest. So, he responded, "Ah yes, he appeared at the end of the first campaign. We were laying siege to Valladolid."  
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Mexico was pacing back and forth in the camp that had been setup outside of the city. He hated sieges, they were slow and boring. He preferred to go in guns blazing and take his chances. It didn't matter how many times he was told that this was the wisest way when they couldn't break through the defenses. This was still so mind-numbingly dull, simply waiting. He looked around.

First, he looked to the lush green of the surrounding forest, made even brighter by the rain of the past couple days. Then he looked back at the city, the graceful assemblage of buildings, the spire of the church reaching high into the heavens. It would be picturesque if it weren't so monotonous. Philippines was standing behind him, looking at him. She hadn't spoken yet, but she didn't need to. She wanted him to stop pacing and just sit down to wait, but she also knew that he wouldn't.

Mexico finally stopped pacing, it wouldn't help with his boredom and it would wear on his boots. When he turned around again he noticed that Guerrero was also standing behind him. The sight of the man made Mexico smile. He had really found himself appreciating the presence. He liked having the figure in the corner of his eye, the strong shoulders and muscular arms, even the prolific sideburns. The man was strikingly handsome, the more Mexico looked at him, the more he realized it. There was also a connection between them that only got stronger. It was to the mortal that Mexico directed his comment, "You're just watching me again?"

Guerrero smiled and said, "It's my job, remember? I'm also bored; sieges are dull." Mexico returned the smile and said, "I'm bored too. We've been here entirely too long." The exchange was simple, but when their eyes met something deeper passed between them. This had happened several times before, but it was still puzzling when it happened. Guerrero continued the exchange, "Well, it should break soon. The defenses are weakening from what I hear. Do you want to go check the front line?"

Mexico glanced over at where Philippines had been standing and noticed that at some point during the conversation she had left. It didn't necessarily bother him, but it seemed like she had been waiting to say something to him. He turned back to the mortal and said, "That sounds more exciting than here. Maybe something important will happen when we're there." Mexico turned and walked toward where his horse was tethered. He knew that the other man was following after him. He grabbed his reigns and mounted quickly. It was a short ride to where the main road to the city where it was blockaded. There was no lack of armament, but it still hadn't managed to break the city down.

Mexico spotted Morelos checking in with the commander of this part of the army. He rode up to the man and said, "How's the siege going?" The man responded, "They are persistent, but they can't hold out forever. I'm going to check the other roads." Mexico nodded and watched him go. There was a sense of anxious anticipation in the air and it only seemed to intensify as Morelos left. Mexico had the distinct sense that something was about to happen. He hadn't had this feeling before reaching this spot. It seemed that if something was going to happen, it was going to happen here.

Surely enough, he heard the shout of a scout closer to the city. It meant that the defenders were finally choosing to attack. It was a foolish maneuver; they were still outnumbered by the insurgent forces. There were too many roads to attack at once; the defending army would be spread far too thin. Mexico smirked; the fools were making their first mistake. His hand went to the handle of his sword, which he was wearing at his hip. He licked his lips, anticipating the inevitable victory.

The loyalist charge hit their defenses with a force that Mexico had not been expecting. It was like a wave surging up over a stone wall. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the entire defending cavalry had attacked this particular point. It was a brilliant maneuver. If they could break through the line, they would be able to take the insurgent force from the back, which gave them a far better chance of permanently breaking the siege.

Mexico drew his sword, ready to fight. But, it was already clear that the defenses were crumbling. It was something that Mexico hadn't experienced in quite a while. It was an unsettling feeling. Mexico cut through the thick of the fighting, determined to at least make a difference. He cut behind another person on a horse and came around to find himself facing the man who had led the ambitious charge. His eyes met the mortal's dark, sparkling eyes and something shot through his body like electricity. With everyone else, Mexico had felt a soft connection, but this was completely different. This was intense and almost violent. What was also striking was that the mortal seemed just as affected as Mexico was. The battle raged around them, but Mexico was completely oblivious to it.

The sound of another charge finally broke the state of hypnosis. The other parts of the insurgent army had come to try and turn the battle. But, Mexico knew that this would be futile. They didn't have the advantage. There was too much to lose and not enough to gain; the sudden charge had done its job. He turned and rode through the chaos of the battle until he found Morelos. Once he reached the commander, he said, "We have to retreat. It is too risky to try to preserve the siege." The man nodded, albeit grudgingly, and then gave the command for retreat.

The army fell back into the forest. Before Mexico followed them, he turned and looked again. He saw the loyalist he had locked eyes with. The man, who was not high ranking judging by his uniform, looked majestic on his chestnut horse. Mexico again felt a jolt. He finally turned and followed his army into the forest. From what Mexico could tell looking around, casualties had been minimal. It didn't feel like a loss per say, but he was shaken. Feeling some sort of a connection to a loyalist was very strange, but he couldn't deny that the man had shown an aggressive touch for strategy. Mexico spoke under his breath, "Who was that man?"


	44. Chapter 44

The image of the mysterious solider swam through Mexico's head for days after the encounter. Every time he closed his eyes to go to sleep, he could still see the final moment when he had turned back to look in breathtaking clarity. He awoke feeling the same energy coursing through his blood. Something about the man had left a very clear impression and an entirely novel feeling. He awoke and walked around until the buzz wore off. Even once they had left the city and the man behind, Mexico couldn't stop himself from thinking about him. Only the heat of battle distracted him from the memory. He knew his obsession was growing, but there was no help for it. It was a welcome day when Morelos announced the plan for the next campaign.

The map was laid out on the table with Morelos at the head of the table with his commanders around him. Mexico focused on the map, trying to not let himself think of anything else. Strategy was an exciting way to fill his mind. Morelos was speaking, "On the whole, we have been victorious as one army. But, this is slow. I have decided that we should split the army in three parts; hopefully, that will allow us to take the rest of the South." The people around the table all nodded or muttered in approval. Mexico had no reason to question the strategy either. He had learned over the past few months that he could put his trust entirely in the mortal. Morelos had proved that he was an excellent strategist and a purely patriotic soul. The combination was both potent and confidence inspiring. As it was, Mexico didn't feel the need to say anything in response to the plan. His silent consent should be enough. When Morelos's eyes met his, he nodded silently.

Orders were given and the room slowly cleared out, leaving Mexico alone with his leader. When he was sure no one else was in the room, Mexico spoke, "I assume I'll be staying with you?" He already knew the answer. With a bounty on him, Mexico would be far more at risk. He knew that no mortal would be capable of dragging him back to Spain, but that certainly wouldn't be reassuring to Morelos.

The answer soon came, "You will. I want to be able to keep an eye on you."  
He caught the look on Mexico's face and added, "You don't like it. You're a strong-willed person, but I don't think I misunderstand the situation. If you are captured, then we lose the chance at independence." He wasn't wrong, and Mexico knew it. It had become very clear that if Spain got Mexico back, he would likely drag the boy back to Madrid. That would effectively end the independence movement.

The protective gestures were at least coming from a good place. Mexico looked up at the mortal and felt a warm glow in his chest. He wondered how he had ever distrusted this man who believed in him, in the cause, so fully. He spoke, trying to give voice to the feeling in his chest, "I do appreciate you keeping me safe. I appreciate everything you've done for me."

Morelos looked almost shocked at the words. He responded after a long pause, "I didn't expect you to say that. What has changed?" Mexico realized how much the other had been holding back his affection. The boy had been acting very cold to Morelos, and on some level he realized that it was because he didn't want anyone to replace Hidalgo. Even without any affection from Mexico, Morelos had thrown himself entirely into battle after battle. How much the man had done without any reciprocation had not properly dawned on Mexico until this moment.

He responded, "I've been cold to you and I'm sorry for that. But I've realized that Miguel is gone and I need to stop expecting you to be him. You've done a lot for me and I do appreciate it." It wasn't as eloquent as Mexico had intended it to be, but it was at least heartfelt. Apologizing was not his forte, seeing as he rarely did it. Morelos smiled slowly and took a couple steps towards Mexico. He replied, "I've been waiting for you to say that." He stopped for a moment and looked down. When he looked back up at Mexico, something had shifted in him.

He pointed to one of the chairs and said, "There is something I want to tell you. You should sit." With his interest piqued, Mexico decided that he should trust the man and sit. Once he was seated, Morelos sat as well. The man reached out and put his hand on top of Mexico's where it was on the table. The contact was new, the pair of them had never made skin-to-skin contact, it was a paternal gesture that was both similar and different from the ones that Hidalgo had made. It was comforting and Mexico decided not to pull away.

Morelos spoke, "I am happy with the progress we have made, but military conquest is not the way to build a lasting state. We need to have an official declaration of independence. We need an official constitution or this will all crumble as soon as Spain leaves. There will be a power vacuum if we don't already have a structure in place." The words made perfect logical sense. However, it had a wonderful kind of confidence in it.

It was this that Mexico addressed when he responded, "How would we do that when we don't even have half of my land back under our control?" The mortal looked concerned and said, "I don't think we can do it now. When we have enough of the country under our control, we will bring representatives together to decide on a constitution." What was striking was the assumption that this would be complete possible with time and continued victory.

Again, when Mexico spoke he focused on this, "So, this is your ambition?" The other responded with a nod, "When we met, I told you that I wanted to bring you independence, and that is still true. But, I can't rely on military might entirely. If we were to establish a monarchy enforced by the army, then how are we any different from the tyranny that we are trying to throw off?" Mexico hadn't bothered to think about what he would do with independence when he finally had it. The kind of foresight had never seemed important. It still seemed that the actual victory was too far away to be thinking about what to do after it.

Mexico responded with another pleasant smile, "For both out sakes, I hope you get the chance to fulfill your ambition. But there are victories to be won before then, and that is what we should think about." He stood up, intent on leaving and informing Philippines of the plans that had been made.  
But, the mortal speaking stopped him, "I worry about you. You may be my country, but you are an individual first and you are far too militarily minded. You can't fight for the whole of your existence; it would be wise to consider options for peace."  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

America cut in, "He was right, you know. You always have been really aggressive."  
Mexico responded without even a second of silence, "I haven't had a military coup for at least a century; a fact that you seem to be fond of forgetting. I buried my tendency to fight." He turned slightly and fixed his gaze on the blonde, "You, on the other hand, have only gotten worse with age. I'm not the one who has been at war since the world wars." He was getting tired of pointing out the other's hypocrisy every time the story stopped, but now that he was this far, he couldn't stop. Telling the whole story was a very cathartic experience, and it really didn't matter what Alfred thought of it.

But the American seemed mollified by his own hypocrisy, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. But, even you must admit that you're confrontational by nature." This was, at least, true. There was no need to talk around it, and Mexico didn't attempt to, "Honestly, Alfred, my parents were both empires who ruled by constant conquest. A man who gained an empire by killing everyone who got in his way raised me. Do you really expect me to be tame when both my blood and my upbringing tell me the opposite?" America opened his mouth as though about to respond but then decided that it was better not to and resolutely closed his mouth.

Mexico took it as an invitation to continue the story, "Now, if you will stop distracting me with your tangents, I will continue the story that you asked for. The second campaign went very much like the first, victory after victory. But, what was even more important was the turning of the public will. The common people began to understand that independence would be best for them. We didn't have to fight for every town anymore."  
____________________________________________________________________________________________

The gates of Cuautla were wide open as the army reached them. The city was welcoming them with open arms. This was the kind of entrance that Mexico wanted to make. It felt good to be welcomed by his own people in this fashion. There was a bite of cold in the air, as it was getting late in the winter months, but nothing could put a damper on his spirits. The streets were lined with people as they rode in. The colors and flags of the independence were obvious from every window. There were cheers from the crowd, who surged forward to greet the incoming army. Mexico could feel his heart swelling in his chest. He was realizing that the nationalism and love of his people felt better than anything else.

Guerrero was right next to him, and the man leaned over and said, "Do you know what day it is?" Mexico shook his head in response. He had lost track of the exact days a long time ago. He knew it was December, but the rest had slipped away. The mortal responded with a slight smile, "It's Christmas Eve." The news was not completely unexpected, but it made him smile all the same. He replied, "Well, then it is a day to celebrate."

His attention was suddenly drawn away by a girl running up to the front of the crowd and saying, "Senior! Senior!" Mexico turned his head to see a young girl, just barely a teenager, was looking up at him with a smile. Her hand was extended towards him and she was holding a poinsettia. Mexico felt himself smile and reached out and took the flower. The single gift seemed to express the love of an entire population. It warmed his heart, even though he was well aware that this was only a single city that would mean little without victories following this.

He finally turned back to Guerrero to see that the man was looking at him with an expression of adoration. He spoke, "It seems that the people love you." The sparkle in his dark eyes expressed more, but Mexico dared not read into it farther. He could tell that the man was serious on some level.

He replied evasively, "They love what we represent. They love the idea of independence, as we all do." He said it to put an end to the conversation, even though he knew that that was exactly the reason affection was being shown to him.  
But, this was not sufficient, Guerrero replied, "I love my country as well, but you have your own magnetism."  
Before he could stop himself, Mexico said, "Those two are not as unrelated as you think." The other looked puzzled, but didn't pry into the statement.

They were offered the most opulent residence in the city, and they were soon settled. Mexico was standing in the front gardens of the manor house. From here, he could see the sun setting over the city that had been thrown open for him The warm feeling of welcome was still wrapped around him, making him feel light and strangely buoyant.

He heard the clearing of a throat behind him. It could be anyone, but there was certain femininity to the sound. So, when he turned to see Philippines standing behind him with a letter in her hand. He spoke, "Hello Piri, what do you want?"  
She sighed and said, "What I want has hardly seemed to matter to you. But I have a letter for you from your brother." The sentence was surprising because Mexico had not spared a thought for Texas in more than a year. The last he had heard of his brother had been the false lead that had doomed Hidalgo and Allende. He had not thought about his brother's involvement. He had no real desire to read the letter; it had been blissfully quiet without Texas.

He said to Philippines, "Have you already read it?" He didn't need to ask; he could see the broken seal. It didn't bother him that she was reading his mail, it saved him the trouble of reading the letters that he didn't want to read. She nodded and replied quickly, "It's wordy and rather desperate. Apparently Antonio captured him when he was delivering your offer to Alfred. He was just released and he begs to be able to come to you and be of use again."

It made perfect sense; if Texas had been captured then Spain would have gotten the entire plan of action and been able to make his decisive move. That was enough to make Mexico categorically consider his brother a traitor. But, there was another reason to deny Texas. If Spain released a prisoner, then he must have a reason. Most likely, he realized that Texas would immediately run back to Mexico and give away the boy's location. So, he responded to Philippines, "I'll write him later and tell him that there is no possibility of him coming back to me. I will have one of the other sections of the army pick him up if he tells me where he is. Until then, we can't risk contact."

Mexico stopped speaking when he noticed the look on the girl's face. She looked like this was exactly what she wanted to be hearing, a small smile was turning up the corners of her mouth. He changed the subject, "But you couldn't be more glad to hear that, could you?" She took a step closer to him and fixed her black eyes on him.

When she spoke, it was clear she was completely sincere, "I don't like your brother. He told me I had no right to care for you because I am not blood related to you. Everything has been easier without him." Mexico didn't disagree, but he was distracted by the fact that Philippines was talking slow steps towards him. The space between them was getting progressively smaller.

She abruptly changed the subject, looking up at him as she did so, "I have to ask you, Alejandro. What do you feel for Guerrero? I always tried to ignore the rumors that you preferred boys, but when I watch you two together, I can't help but think there is something there." Mexico was shocked by the question, because he hadn't thought it had been outwardly obvious. He hadn't properly defined his feelings to himself, so it was hard to come up with a response. Several seconds of silence stretch out, agonizingly long before Mexico finally said, "I'm not certain. I know he's important to me, but I can say why for sure."

One of her eyebrows rose, "You know that wasn't what I was asking. He's only mortal, his love won't be eternal." Suddenly, her tone seemed very critical. Mexico didn't want to be questioned or doubted, he did that enough on his own. Moreover, she was questioning him as an equal when he had established a hierarchy between the,. His choice of interests couldn't be anywhere near as damaging as the other mistakes he had made. He took a couple steps backward and hardened his voice, "That's enough, Piri. I'm focused on beating Antonio, I don't have time to contemplate romantic feelings for anyone."

The girl looked down at his feet and said, "Yes, I had noticed that." She turned and walked away, the wind catching her loose black hair as she did. Mexico couldn't shake the feeling that he had said something terribly wrong. However, he couldn't dwell on it.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Mexico paused without the other making any comment and said, "I could bore you with the battles we had in that campaign, but it should be enough to simply say that as before, we won over and over again. Even the risk of three smaller armies paid off."  
America caught the hesitant tone in the other's voice and said, "But that wasn't the end of it?"  
Mexico fixed his stony gaze on the blonde and replied, his voice reflecting a rage that was reawakened in the pit of his stomach, "Of course not. I underestimated my opponent again. Antonio waited until I brought my army back together at Cuautla, and then he made his move." This was supposed to be the transition into the next part of the story, but America had other things on his mind.

He spoke, "Does that mean Texas was back with you? I don't remember seeing him again until you were independent." Mexico snapped back, "You always think of him. But to answer your question, yes he returned."  
___________________________________________________________________________________________

Texas looked like he had been traveling for days, his hair and simple clothing were both disheveled. But as soon as he saw his brother, he took a few more steps and dropped to one knee. He spoke, "Thank you for letting me come back, brother." The light shifted across Texas's face and Mexico noticed something. He reached down and put his hand under his brother's chin. He forced the man to look at him. The yellow-green of a healing bruise was splashed across his cheek. Judging from the location, Texas's eyes had probably swelled up for a time.

Mexico finally spoke, "What happened to your face?"  
The brightness went out of the other's eyes as he realized the direction the conversation was going, "Antonio hit me. He didn't like me looking so much like you. He's not stable anymore since you broke his heart." Mexico felt no pity for his brother, because he had been thinking through the sequence of events and there was only one answer. The only way Spain could have known about the agreement with America well enough to manipulate it the way he did was if Texas had told him.

It was this that Mexico addressed, "And what did you tell him?"  
His brother immediately looked up and him and said quickly, "Nothing. I didn't tell him anything; believe me!"  
Mexico shook his head and took a step back, "You know I can't do that, Diego. The timing is too perfect."

Texas stood up suddenly, his eyes full of rage. He was level with his brother. Without any hesitation, he unbuttoned his jacket and threw it to the floor. He then pulled off his shirt, revealing his chest. The skin was littered with the marks of old bruises, some massive enough to be made by something other than fists. Texas spoke, "This is what he did to me because I wouldn't tell him anything about you. I took these blows for you, brother, so don't you dare call me a traitor."

After at least a year of being apart, it was bracing for Mexico to deal with his brother again. Usually, he would remain firm, but the obvious marks of abuse softened him. For a moment, he remembered that Texas shared blood with him and was his responsibility. He responded by reaching out and putting one hand on his brother's bare shoulder.

He replied, "I'm sorry for my suspicion. This war has become harder for me, and it has become difficult for me to trust anyone." As was his conditioning around his brother, Texas looked down now that his rage had cooled.  
He replied still looking at Mexico's boots, "I do understand how much it must have hurt you to lose Hidalgo." Mexico simply nodded, not entirely ready to talk about his losses with his brother. An uncomfortable silence stretched on between them, which Texas desperately attempted to fill, "I know we came to blows when I was last with you, but I promise it will be better this time. I have had time to reflect on my mistakes." Mexico nodded, but again said nothing in response. Hitting Texas was the last thing he had to regret at the moment.

Their conversation was interrupted by Philippines throwing open the door on the other side of the room and saying to the room at large, "Alejandro, you need to go talk to Morelos right now. There is bad news."  
She stopped in her tracks and looked directly at Texas and said, "Oh I didn't know you were back." Mexico was not oblivious to the hostile glances the pair were throwing at each other, but he chose to ignore it because whatever news Morelos wanted to tell him was more important than the petty rivalry. He walked past both of them to reach the door, saying as he did so, "I will be back, try not to kill each other while I am gone."

Mexico knocked on the door, even though he knew that Morelos was expecting him. It was a courtesy, which was quickly answered with the perfunctory, "Come in." As soon as he was in the room, Mexico said, "What's the news from the front, Jose?" The mortal turned and looked at him. Mexico noticed that there was a set of letters lying on the table, each definitely carrying news from messengers. He thought for a moment about walking forward and reading them, but he had a feeling that he was about to get the summary of the information.

Sure enough, Morelos said, "I have received news that Spanish forces are closing off all the routes to this city. They are slowly closing in on us. I expect we will see them in a few days."  
Mexico's heart sped up, possibly out of fear, as he realized the significance of this, "So, it's a siege?"  
The other nodded and responded, clearly trying to mask his own concern, "It appears that way, yes."

There was only one logical response to a siege, and that was to not treat it as a lost cause already. Mexico knew from firsthand experience that sieges could be broken. Certainly, the idea was to break the will of the independence movement and that couldn't be allowed to happen. So, Mexico said, "How long can we hold out before we will be forced to break the siege or surrender?"

The answer to the question was vital, considering that Spain had probably already made the same calculation it was essential that the Spanish forces be unable to effectively hold the siege. Morelos seemed to also recognize the importance of the question and carefully said, "At least a month, I'm not entirely certain after that."  
Mexico nodded and said, trying to keep all traces of uncertainty out of his voice, "Well, we will have to hope that that's long enough." With that, he turned and left.

As he walked back to his room, a single thought started to gestate in Mexico's mind. The siege was coming at the convenient time when almost the entirety of the insurgent army could be trapped in a single city. Texas claimed innocence, but it was strange that this news should come so soon after he returned. Considering the injuries that Mexico had seen, it was completely conceivable that Texas had broken down and turned informant. With treason possible, there was only one option left.

He stormed back to his room and found Philippines and Texas standing on opposite sides of the room glaring at each other. The years they had spent apart had apparently only made the situation worse. But as always, the feud between them meant nothing to Mexico. He had business to take care of with his brother, and that was the only thing on his mind.

First, he turned to Philippines and said, "Piri, I need a moment with my brother." She looked affronted until Mexico gave her a knowing look to imply the contents of his intended conversation and she understood. She then left the room.

Once she was gone, Texas turned to his brother with a slight smile. The sight of the dark, almost black, eyes and the smug, satisfied smile made Mexico feel slightly sick considering the treason he suspected. He didn't bother to speak; he simply took a couple quick steps and grabbed Texas by both shoulders. He slammed his brother against the wall. He could feel the force of the impact vibrate through the other's body. Given the barely healed injuries, the blow probably hurt. The expression of shock and pain on Texas's face confirmed that the position hurt him.

Mexico hissed, "Tell me, brother, what did Antonio promise you? What did he say he'd give you once you gave him me?" His brother's eyes went wide as the meaning of the words hit him.  
His voice sounded strangled when he responded, "I didn't tell him anything!"

Mexico didn't believe it, the simple denial was not convincing. He would have to confront his brother with the obvious evidence, "So it's just a coincidence that Spanish troops are surrounding this city just as you return?"  
Texas tried to nod, but Mexico's grip made it effectively impossible, so he said, "I'm loyal to you. Why would I betray you?" Still, the other did not relent.

He responded, "You are loyal because mother told you to be. Mother is dead now." Mexico looked straight into Texas's eyes and saw tears welling up in the corner of the boy's eyes. It was not what he was expecting. He had expected defiance or even admission. But, Texas said, "You're the only thing I have, brother." The pure emotion was enough to alleviate Mexico's suspicion, or at least part of it. Texas was at least afraid enough now to not step out of line.

As he took a step backwards, away from his brother, Mexico said, "Well, we shall see by the end of this siege. Consider your loyalties carefully, little brother. If you ever betray me, I will make you pay with your life." He left Texas standing stock still staring at him with an expression of shock.


	45. Chapter 45

Mexico was standing on the walls of the city, looking out over the troops massing below him. As predicted, the enemy had appeared within days of the news reaching them. Every day it seemed that more loyalist soldiers poured into the encampment. Mexico had found recently that these ramparts held a kind of comfort. The feeling that he was losing this war was becoming impossible to ignore. The weather seemed to agree with him. Heavy grey clouds had gathered on the horizon. He felt a cold breeze over the flesh of the back of his neck. Mexico couldn't help but shiver.

He turned away and descended back to the main level. It was immediately obvious that something was happening from the manic feeling in the air. Guerrero walked over to him as soon as he reached the main level. The man was constantly at his side by Morelos's insistence. It was likely that with the stresses of the siege would cause some ambitious man to take advantage of the bounty.

Mexico addressed the man, "What's going on?"  
The mortal responded immediately, "A loyalist messenger has arrived. He wants to tell us about how we should surrender."  
Mexico scoffed in response, "Ten days and he already thinks we're beat. How arrogant." He had spoken about Spain without thinking about the fact that the other had no knowledge of his true identity or the existence of Spain.  
He was reminded of this when Guerrero said, ""'He"?"  
Mexico quickly clarified with a lie, "I meant whoever is commanding the siege." The other nodded, but looked unconvinced.

He changed the subject, "Morelos requested your presence for the negotiations." It was perfectly clear to Mexico that Guerrero was still wondering at his importance, but the man wasn't actively trying to figure out the answers anymore.  
Mexico nodded and said, "I expect he has already rejected whatever terms were offered." He spoke with certainty because it would be tantamount to suicide for them to accept surrender terms. The siege hadn't been long enough yet to press them to desperation. Morelos didn't need his permission to make the logical decision.

Still, they walked to the center of the city to the building that was being used as the center of the campaign. The main room was almost completely deserted, save a few guards, Morelos and the Spanish messenger. This made it all the more obvious when Mexico walked into the room. The messenger immediately turned. His eyes fixed on Mexico and a look of recognition lit up his eyes. Without even waiting to talk to any of the mortals, the man immediately walked toward Mexico and extended a sealed letter. He spoke, "Mexico, this letter is for your eyes only."

The name was spoken easily but it hung heavy in the air. Mexico's first thought was not of the letter, but of Guerrero, who had never heard his real name. He turned toward the mortal to find the man gawking at him. He attempted to smile in a way that he hoped would be reassuring. But what he got in response was a slight shake of the head. Guerrero turned and walked out of the room. The man's exit left Mexico with a sinking feeling. He had not meant to reveal himself so soon, especially in this way. He wanted the man to stay until he could explain it all.

But the voice of the messenger called him back to the present situation, "Mexico, I was tasked to give this letter to you." He repeated his orders as though he was frightened he had not been clear the first time. Mexico turned back and took the letter in a single motion. He noticed that the seal was Spain's personal seal. It meant that this letter was meant to go directly from Spain to Mexico, with only one other hand touching it. The message must be an important one to warrant such caution. This was rather a more elegant solution than leaving a trail of corpses to interpret.

Morelos took a step forward and said in a voice that could only have been mustered by a man who preached, "If your business is with Mexico, then it is also with me." The messenger turned back around quickly and pulled out another letter, this one not sealed. He handed it to Morelos, who took it but paid no attention to it. The priest instead said, "The answer is that we will not surrender under any circumstances."

The messenger, who was feeling slightly smugger now, responded, "You disregard the terms at your own peril and when we break through, you will be held to account for it." The threat rang empty in the space filled with revolutionaries, unimpressive words from an unimpressive man. The loyalist seemed to realize this not long after he spoke. Deciding that his job was done and sensing the highly hostile environment, the man said, "I assume I still have safe conduct out of the city."

Morelos nodded slowly and said, "I suggest you make use of it too before I decide to rescind it." Without another word, the man turned and walked out of the room. Only once they were alone again did Mexico walk all the way over to Morelos and say, glancing down at the letter in his hand, "I don't plan to read this." He didn't care about the letter, because he suspected it was nothing but threats.

However, the mortal glanced at it and said, "I think you should. If Spain is going to such lengths to get a letter to you, then it might be important."  
Mexico then turned to the other, and in his mind far more pertinent subject, "What about Vicente? I didn't intend for him to find out that way." The other's eyes focused on the country's face, trying to measure resolve.  
It was apparently clear that Mexico cared more about Guerrero than he cared about the letter currently in his hand, because Morelos said, "You read the letter, I will go talk to Guerrero. He deserves an explanation and I might be the best person to give it to him."

Mexico wanted to object, to believe that he could speak to Guerrero himself and make some difference. But, he knew it might be wiser to let Morelos act as a mentor to the young man. So, he nodded in agreement. With that, the other left in the direction Guerrero had fled. Once he was alone, Mexico turned to the piece of paper that he had been ignoring. He slowly broke the seal of the letter, wondering if he was about to regret this decision.

He read the first words slowly, trying to ascertain the tone of them, "Alejandro, my love and my enemy, I am giving you a final chance although I know what you have done with your own hands. I do this only because of the love I bear you, which I can assure you is enough to pardon even your sins." At this point, Mexico stopped reading. He could not believe the words. He had known that Spain was sentimental, to a fault even, but this was different. This was a passionate, conflicted appeal.

Mexico walked to a wall and put his back to it. Suddenly he needed the support to continue reading. He wasn't moved by the words, but he was struck by them. There was something in them, in the deep emotion, that was stirring. But, the words continued, "You may not believe me, but it is true all the same that I do not want to hurt you. Come to me by morning, alone and unarmed. In return, I will treat you gently and allow the current leaders of your insurrection to live. If you refuse and continue to fight, I promise you more heads. I cannot continue to protect you simply because I love you."

Again Mexico stopped reading to catch his breath. The threat he had just read was not what was unnerving him. That he had been expecting. What he hadn't expected was how thoroughly Spain was holding onto the supposed feelings between them. This was not love, it was obsession. This wouldn't sway Mexico, he couldn't afford it. Certainly he wasn't about to give himself up and sacrifice everything he worked for. He wouldn't be cajoled like a misbehaving child.

He folded the letter up completely now, refusing to read or accept another word. His mind was continuing to go through the little of the letter that he had read. But, in the midst of the confusing swirl of thought, another thought emerged. He thought about the look on Guerrero's face when the man had left the room. The expression had been decidedly hard to read. It could have been a mix of shock and confusion, but there could have been something else mixed in, something more sinister. Mexico found his mind turning away from the letter, which he was going to categorically reject anyway. His relationship with Spain would soon be unimportant, but his relationship with Guerrero was pertinent, and Mexico couldn't shake the idea that it would be far more important soon. Surely enough time had not passed for Guerrero and Morelos to have a whole conversation about Mexico's existence, but Mexico couldn't stop himself from wanting to go talk to the young man.

Instead, to kill time and avoid looking at the letter, he put the paper into his pocket and then walked out of the building. He was walking back to the high walls of the city, hoping that they would again bring him some sort of calm. The view was the same as it had been only an hour before, but something had changed. Mexico looked over the encampments and thought about Spain, who was out there somewhere, probably now receiving the news that his letter had been delivered. Was the man really still clinging to the hope that Mexico would really come to him willingly?

Mexico attempted to imagine the expression on his colonizer's face. What came to mind was a look of carefully concealed hope underneath layers of worry, the tan brow slightly furrowed but light within the green eyes. Spain had so much blood on his hands, but there was still something pitiable in thinking of him waiting for a response to a letter, knowing that the letter was his last resort. Mexico couldn't reconcile it. He knew who Spain was, what he had done, but something in the frank desperation of this letter had made him falter. He took the letter from his pocket once again and unfolded it.

He didn't read it, but scanned over the uneven scrawling on the page. Likely, Spain had sat down to write this with it in mind to be as frank as possible. But, as he had written, it had unraveled into this messy final product, emotion overwhelming reason.

With one swift movement of his wrist, Mexico tore the letter in half. He didn't want to feel anything that would threaten his present course of action and this letter was dangerous. In ripping the letter, he hoped to destroy the feelings it represented. He didn't care what Spain felt, unless it was pain. The first tear was not as cathartic as it should have been, so Mexico tore the remaining pieces in half again. It felt slightly better, so he continued until the letter was reduced to white pieces with unreadable black scribbles across them. Then he leaned out over the edge of the wall and let go. The wind caught the remaining pieces of the letter and they danced in the air before disappearing from view. Mexico breathed a slow sigh of relief.

"Was that the letter from Spain?"  
Mexico easily recognized Guerrero's voice and responded to the question without looking at the man, "Yes, I'm refusing his ultimatum." He kept his voice calm, but as he turned to face the mortal, his heart beat faster in his chest. The man was looking at him with a neutral expression.

However, when he spoke, his reaction to the new information was clear, "I always suspected you were special, but I never guessed at the truth. I'm sorry for walking out, I simply couldn't believe it." Mexico felt a small smile creep back onto his face as he heard the soft sound of adoration in the familiar voice. Once he was entirely facing Guerrero, the other continued with his eyes fixed on Mexico, "This does explain my feelings for you. As I have said before." He took a step forward, closer to Mexico, "I love my country." His dark eyes were shining brilliantly as he spoke, full of the fire of a man whose purpose had been made flesh.

It was a better response than Mexico had been expecting. He responded, "You aren't angry with me, then?" Guerrero shook his head slowly.  
He spoke with only slight hesitation, "Because you didn't think you could trust me enough to tell me who you really are?" Mexico shook his head, he had not told yet because he was waiting for the right moment.  
But, he said, "I did not think you would believe me."

The mortal took another step forward, making the space between them rather small. He responded, "So, you did not believe I trusted you enough to believe anything and everything you tell me. I don't believe you've ever lied to me."  
Mexico nodded and said, "By omission perhaps, but everything I told you about myself was true."

The other looked at him with a curious expression. He took one more small step forward and spoke again, "It is a happy day for a nationalist when he realizes that the man who has pulled his passion away from his country is his country," He added, without stopping to allow Mexico a response, "Now that I know, I should warn you: I won't leave your side until I die. Even if you order me away, I won't leave you."

Something had shifted in a way that made Mexico slightly uncomfortable. Friendship had turned into adoration, but it wasn't the kind of affection Mexico wanted. He took a step backwards and said; "Don't put me on a pedestal. I am still the same man I was yesterday." The feelings were completely confusing; Mexico wanted to be admired, but not by this man. He wanted Guerrero to see him as human because their relationship had been so good when he had been nothing special in the other's mind.

Guerrero looked as though he was ordering his thoughts. He took a second before he said, "That's hard to do. I've spent most of my life caring deeply for my country. You are a bold, impetuous, charming young man."  
Mexico cut in, "Are you having trouble reconciling the two?"  
The man shook his head, but his meaning was not entirely clear until he said, "I still don't completely comprehend your existence. I am trying to understand if I care about you as a country or as a person."  
Mexico smiled and said, "Why can't it be both? I don't want this to change anything between us." As the other nodded and said, "It won't." thunder boomed across the sky.

Mexico turned to glance at the horizon, where the oppressive grey clouds had advanced so that they filled the sky. Changing the subject, Mexico said, "We should go inside." Without another word to each other, they walked inside.

Mexico returned to his room and walked to the window. With the situation with Guerrero dealt with, his mind drifted back to the letter from Spain. Destroying the letter had not destroyed the words, which were still spinning around Mexico's mind. He was struck now by how arrogant and brazen the letter was. Spain had made the assumption that his words and threats would change the situation entirely. Mexico felt anger rising in him again. He couldn't believe Spain would deign to order him around when he was in open rebellion. But, that irritating grain of pity for Spain still remained, like sand against skin.

Outside the window, the courtyard completely emptied as the clouds burst and rain poured down. Mexico clenched his teeth as the emotions rolled back. He didn't want to feel half of this emotion. The anger was familiar, but the pity was not. Suddenly, the pouring rain was inviting. It reminded him of something he couldn't place, a night on the very edge of his memory.

Without really thinking about it, Mexico found himself standing just inside the door to the courtyard, his jacket draped over his arm. The smell of rain hitting ground little accustomed to it was intoxicating and fresh. Mexico placed his jacket carefully out of the way before stepping out into the driving rain. As the water washed over his skin, all of the emotions came back at once.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. With all other senses extinguished, he could feel every drop of water impacting on his skin, and then rolling off. The water was warm, as only tropical rain could be. Mexico's mind drifted to different lines of the letter. Spain loved him, but that fact had always been true. There was nothing new about it, but the frankness had been what was striking. That meant nothing, it couldn't mean anything.

His hands curled into fists. But, the next part of the letter came to mind, Spain's threat to continue beheading the leaders of the independence movement. A wave of guilt and sadness washed over Mexico as the vision of Hidalgo's head appeared in his mind again. He felt moisture roll down his cheeks, hotter than the rain. The tears mixed with the rain, disappearing into nature. The grief that had been put aside for danger and revenge was finally expressing itself. The grief for Hidalgo, for Allende.

Letting his control go, Mexico fell to his knees. A single sob shook his body, but in this moment it felt like no one was watching and the emotion could be let loose. As that sob died, Mexico realized how much the gruesome execution had affected him. An unbidden doubt appeared. He couldn't go through this again with Morelos, or worse, Guerrero.

He slowly opened his eyes. On the ground in front of him, a puddle had formed and it acted as a mirror. The first thing that struck Mexico was his eyes, exactly the same color as his mother's eyes. He was the only legitimate heir to his mother's bloodline, the only one who could carry out revenge for her; he couldn't be having these doubts now that he had come so far. The hate was still hot in the pit of his stomach and it burned away that doubt as well as the errant pity.

He clenched his jaw again, reaffirming his determination. He would not back down, no matter what the cost may grow to be. Slowly he got back to his feet, feeling as though he had left the weakness and doubt behind on the ground. He breathed a deep breath, feeling more at peace than he had in quite a while. Slowly, he turned back toward the building, and took the couple steps back. He realized on a rational level that he was soaked to the bone, but it didn't matter. He felt refreshed, baptized by rain and catharsis. Now he could continue and focus on his cause. As he walked inside, all he could think about is how soon he could break the siege.


	46. Chapter 46

Mexico was standing in a room overlooking the city. He finished sharpening and polishing his sword and slipped it into the sheath. The plans were in place; in the morning he was going to break the siege, and if Spain was still outside the gates, end this war.

Done with the sword, Mexico set it to the side and then turned to his pistols. They had to be cleaned and oiled before battle broke out again or they would not fire with the accuracy and speed he was used to. As he started to clean the first pistol, he heard a knock on the door behind him. He turned around and saw Philippines standing at the door. The first thing he noted was that her hair was not tied back as it usually was. It fell in very subtle waves to her waist. It actually made her look beautiful. It was not the first time he had realized it, but it was disconcerting all the same.

He said, completely ignoring his own realization, "Is there news, Piri?" She shook her head and took a step forward. A look flashed across her face that showed that she was not exactly enthused about what she was about to say.  
However, she said, "Your brother wants to talk to you. He asked me to ask you to talk to him."

She spoke with a slight smile as though she knew that Mexico was going to ignore the request. But, he did not intend to ignore his brother's invitation. He replied, "What a coward, not daring to face me. But, I will talk to him."  
Philippines immediately responded, "Why? He betrayed you; he isn't worth your time."

Mexico knew that she was right to an extent. But, he had given an ultimatum and he needed to honor it. Texas had stayed through the entire siege, which meant that there was still some loyalty left, even if it had caved to Spain before. So, the least he could do was give his brother time to plead his case. He responded, "He's still here. He had the chance to leave and he didn't."

Philippines shook her head slightly before saying, "If he were not your brother, would you still suffer him?" The question was strangely insightful, and it surprised Mexico. He genunly had to think for a moment before answering. The honest answer was no. If Texas were not his brother, then he wouldn't be putting up with him. Blood was important, if only to preserve his mother's bloodline.

He responded, not with the truth, but with a question, "Why does it matter to you, Piri? He's my brother, what I do with him is my choice." The other was completely unaffected.  
She said, taking another step forward, "It matters because I care about you."

She took a few more steps forward, looking him directly in the eyes. The space between them was evaporating, and Mexico was not uncomfortable with it. She said, "He's a viper who is preying on your good will. What has he done for you?" Mexico was not willing to succumb to her logic. Her own dislike for Texas was not exactly a secret, and now it was coming to the surface.

Even without any reaction from the other, she continued to speak, "He hasn't been here for you like I have." He sighed and reached out to put one hand on her shoulder. He was glad for her affection, but the attempt to control him was irking.  
He smiled and looked at her, "You are right. You are more family to me than he is." Her black eyes met his gold, and he saw a look in them that was becoming familiar at this point. It was hard to name though, it was somewhere between regret and compassion.  
Mexico paused for a moment before adding, "But, be that as it may, I have to speak to Diego. I have put this off for too long now."

She looked ready to object again, but he gave her a look that said he wasn't finished. He continued the statement, "I don't trust him, that's not what I'm saying. Allow me to deal with him my way."

She nodded, but didn't move to get out of his way. He nodded curtly and walked around her, leaving his weapons on the table. As he walked out, Philippines called him back, "Alejandro, you might want this." He turned back to see her offering him the handle of his saber. She added, a playful smile on his face, "You can put him out of his misery."  
The lighthearted gesture made Mexico smile, and respond, jokingly, "I would take my pistol if I wanted to do that."

He paused before turning back to her and saying, "Don't get fingerprints on my sword, I just polished it." She smiled like he had just expressed affection, and responded, "Of course. Everything will be ready by tomorrow."

Mexico found his brother pacing nervously in a large room usually used for strategy meetings. A large map was still laid out on the table from when Mexico had last spoken to Morelos. As he entered the room, he spoke, "I see you are still here, Diego."  
Texas stopped pacing and turned towards his brother and said, "Does that prove something to you?"

He looked like he wanted to move closer, but he was too cautious to. Mexico didn't let himself react to it. Philippines's words were still ringing in his ears, cautioning him against treating Texas differently because he was family. But, the fact remained that Texas was still here. He said, "It proves that you're not actively betraying me to Antonio." A slight smile appeared on the other's face, as though he took this as reconciliation. But, Mexico continued, saying, "However, that does not mean that you didn't tell him anything when he captured you."

Texas's face immediately fell as he realized what his brother was saying. As Mexico finished his sentence, Texas shook his head slightly, attempting to deny the words. He said, responding as quickly as he could, "What has happened to you? You used to trust me." This blatant attempt at manipulation was obvious to Mexico. He wasn't sentimental enough to fall for this.

He took a step forward and looked his brother directly in the eyes. Texas quailed under the cold gaze. His black eyes filled with trepidation. Mexico spoke, his voice coming out steely, "I lost the greatest man I've ever known to deception. I won't be that trusting again." Texas shook his head again, but he looked completely lost for words. Mexico continued, "Even if you are my brother, I can't afford to give you the benefit of the doubt. I will not risk any of my leaders now."

The other didn't back away, as Mexico expected him to. Instead, he fixed his eyes on his brother and said, "I understand that you were hurt, but I didn't say anything to Antonio." This time, Mexico was the one to shake his head. He couldn't convince himself that Texas was lying, the fact of his presence was too hard to dismiss. But, without an obvious traitor, there was no conclusion to be drawn but that his own actions had been transparent enough for Spain to predict this consolidation. That idea left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He finally responded, "I will let you stay. But, don't expect to be privy to strategy." He judged this to be sufficient response for now, Texas should be satisfied. Mexico was, thus, surprised when his brother took his hand and pressed it to his own chest. Texas winced slightly, despite this being his idea. However, he had a point to make. He made sure Mexico's hand was flat against his chest, right above his heart, before saying, "Do you feel that? Remember that the same blood runs through these veins that runs through yours."

Mexico felt the heartbeat pounding through the skin, and became aware of his own heartbeat, which beat slower than his brother's. The stress must have been increasing Texas's pulse. But, he had a point, and Mexico felt an uncomfortable feeling of remorse rise in his chest. He looked directly at Texas and realized how much they looked alike. Their faces only had small differences between them. Beyond that, he realized how much they both looked like their mother. He thought of the medallion that was sitting against his own heart and the way it had affected for both of them.

The connection lasted only a moment. This was exactly the sentiment that Philippines had been warning him against. Flustered, Mexico pulled his hand away. Texas looked at him with a look that spoke of desperation, but said nothing. Mexico straightened his cuff, which had just been in his brother's grasp and said, "Enough sentiment. I told you my decision." He then turned and walked away.  
_______________________________________________________________________

"Wow, that was cold." America said it without thinking about whether he was interupting the story.  
He already knew what response he was going to get, but still winced slightly when Mexico hissed back, "Why is it that you always defend my brother?"  
Ever the fool, America said without fully considering his response, "He is one of my states."

Mexico sneered, a look that was magnified by his current emotion to express his utter contempt. It was one of those expressions that used to make America shrink. But now, after an entire night of being subjected to Mexico's scathing looks, he was getting bolder. It was Mexico's voice that put him back in his place, "He is a constant problem to you. Next time he threatens to seceede, let him and I'll remind him what he ran like a coward from." It was a threat, the fire that danced across the gold shards in Mexico's eyes made that perfectly clear.

Careful to avoid another confrontation between the brothers, America changed the subject again, but he kept it topical to the story so that Mexico would not call him on his dodge, "So, you broke the seige. Did you fight Spain then?"  
Mexico shook his head and said, "No, he had gone by the time I got there. I was disapointed, but we would have to face each other eventually."  
He paused for only a moment before gathering himself and continuing, "But, him leaving showed that the South was mine. I finally had enough of the country to create a constitution."  
________________________________________________________

The city of Chilpancingo was alive with energy as the day of the Congress approached. Morelos had summoned delegates from all of the states not controlled by Spanish forces, and this meant that it was taking time for them all to appear. Mexico was walking the streets of the city just to kill the time until the Congress happened. He wasn't certain if he was anxious or not. It seemed like a strange notion to be bound by constitution. He had been able to do as he pleased, only restrained by Spain's disaproval. Now, mortals were going to decide his system of government. It was a strange thought, certainly, but looking towards a free future was exciting.

As he walked, Guerrero was at his side, even though this was an insurgent held city. As they made the rounds of the city, they talked. Guerrero was not educated, but it was clear from his wit and charm that he was intelligent. The mortal started on a new subject, "Have you heard what the general plans to call this Congress?" It was light conversation, but the answer to the question was the negative. In honesty, Mexico had been ignoring the matters of logistics. It wasn't the kind of thing he wanted to be occupying himself with when there was still a war to be won. Spain still held half the country, which meant that this constitution was only a symbol.

Mexico responded, simply for the sake of banter, "I have not." He waited patiently for the clarification that he knew was coming. As he expected, Guerrero said, "He's going to call it the Congress of Anahuac." The word struck a chord for Mexico; he knew to what it refered. His medallion felt warm against his heart, warmed by his own body heat. The last moment he had seen his mother's face flashed through his mind. He hadn't expected this sort of poetic reference.

Noticing that Mexico had stopped walking, Guerrero turned to him and asked, aware that only one thing he said could generate that reaction, "Who was the Aztec empire to you?"  
Mexico chose his words carefully as he responded, "You once asked me about my parents, about my mother."

He left the statement hanging as he knew the other had enough intuitition to make the connection. His strategy was effective. The mortal's eyes lit up with the realization, "The Aztec empire was your mother?" Mexico was slightly amazed how shocked the man was by the realization. Surely it was obvious. He knew he had his mother's eyes and her temper. Considering the resemblance between himself and his half brother, it was also likely that he looked like her, but he had never seen it in his own face. His mother's features had been stronger, sharper.

However, he did need to respond to Guerrero in the afirmative. He nodded and said, "I told you that she was an increadible woman, didn't I?"  
The look on the mortal's face was still one of surprise, but he managed to respond, "Then this holds more gravity for you than anyone." Again, Mexico nodded and again started walking.  
However, he did not change the subject, "I do not know what she would think of me now. I have spent the last two hundred years beholdant to the man who killed her."

He was not allowing his emotions full reign, but he was at least being honest. With Guerrero, he could allow himself that. He didn't feel vulnerable in this moment. And yet, the words still tasted bitter as he spoke them. In truth, he tried not to think of what his mother would think about him. Would she be proud that he had chosen to fight for his freedom? Or would she be ashamed that he had let Spain touch him? That he had played the obedient colony for so long? Guerrero seemed to answer the question, although he could not possibly know how much it tormented Mexico, "You have done nothing wrong. You didn't have the strength to fight Spain then. You do now."

It was comforting, but it would not erase the doubts fully. Observing Mexico's uncharacteristic silence, the other tactfully changed the subject, "This is an important step forward. Implementing a declaration of independence will give our movement strength." Yet again, Mexico nodded. He was still lost in the thoughts that the name had triggered in him. He knew that Morelos wanted to bind him with a civilian government, but it was hard to put that much trust in the average citizenship.

Both of his parents had been free to act as they willed, only constrained by the will of kings, who often bent when reminded that they could be easily replaced by their heir. The idea of being completely reliant on a civilian legislature was not appealing, but Mexico knew it was what Morelos wanted. And if this man could win independence, then he could instal whatever government he pleased. Mexico told himself that he would have to be at peace with that, but he was still restless.  
____________________________________________________________________

It was staggering to see so many men in one in one place ready to discuss his future, and Mexico couldn't help but feel slightly impressed by it. This was the loyalty that he commanded as only an idea, and it was incredible. All of these people, and those they represented believed in him enough to declare that they wanted to be independent from Spain. Mexico couldn't help but feel that this was right, the place, the people, even the poetic name. This is where he belonged, of that he was certain.

He was standing on the balcony, where he could observe the proceedings without feigning to be a part of them. It was not his place to be among mortals as they discussed policy. If he was going to be independent, he needed to be able to put his fate in the hands of mortals. And yet, he could not help but be nervous.

As he saw Morelos mount the dias and call the delegates to order, an unexpected pride swelled in his chest. This was the man he had entrusted his independence to and his ambitions were finally being fulfilled. It was his leader that could command such attention. The proceedings began in earnest and Mexico let himself sink into the role of observer.

As they talked, he alternated between sitting and walking. He wanted to sit still and listen, but he was impatient. Too much quiet time allowed thoughts to ambush him. This was all very prudent, but the fact that remained that Spain was out there. There could be no real progress made until the country had been completely ridded of Spanish occupation. Mexico found himself thinking back on breaking the seige instead of paying attention to the specifics of the policy being discussed in front of him. He had hoped to come face to face with Spain again. He was ready now to face his colonizer again. The first time he had been reckless and overconfident, but he would not make the same mistake. If he had met Spain on the battlefield, he could have ended this all right there. As of now, he knew that he could win. He had the skill; it had kept him alive and relatively unharmed through all of the battles. He was also not as naive he had been, and certainly not as foolish.

But, there had been no confrontation. There had been little evidence of Spain's presence either. Mexico had not bothered to ask the captives he took where Spain had went to. He already knew that the man had fled back to the capital when he was less certain of his victory. At this moment, he was likely regrouping and deciding his next move was.

Mexico's own mind was also fixed on Spain's next move. He could not easily draw Mexico into a trap again. Mexico was wise to that strategy. He knew now not to trust letters that promised help precisely when it was needed. That had been a strategy meant to end a war, a masterstroke that was not meant to be reported. Now Spain could not rely on deception. He had to fight like a man. Mexico had to be sure that he was ready for that attack. He held the South, but the capital was still in Spain's hands. It had to be Mexico's next move to cut off all support to the capital. Once he had done that, it would be easy to take the capital. He knew that to be Morelos's strategy once this foray into constitution was over.

Impatient again, Mexico stood and began to walk along the length of the balcony. Below he saw that the meeting had broken for a recess. It surprised Mexico, who had been so deep in his own thoughts. He had not thought that so much time had passed. Eager to stretch his legs, Mexico walked down the stairs and out the door into the gardens. The air was pleasantly warm, which Mexico took for a good sign.

As he walked, he saw the familiar back of Morelos. He adjusted his pace so that he could catch up with his leader. It only took a moment. He was soon able to reach the mortal, who immediately reacted to his presence. Morelos spoke before Mexico had even caught his breath, "You do not need to watch every moment of the procedings."  
Mexico responded, trying to conceal that he had not been listening, "You once told me that my mind was too militaristic. I am trying to train it to be otherwise." The mortal smiled and there was a pride in it. The way he looked at Mexico showed nothing but love for his young country.  
But his response was stern, "I appreciate that you are taking my words seriously. But you will not become a better statesman here. I know that these squables over form of government will bore you."

Mexico knew that it was the truth. He was bored with listening to men speak of government already. That was why his mind wandered so freely. He spoke again, keeping himself from lying for once, "I do have difficulty keeping my mind on the politics. But what else would you have me do?"  
The other's answer was short, but it was exactly what Mexico hoped to hear, "Go train with the soldiers. I will bring the day's work to you, but you will not have to listen to these arguments. We will have to fight again soon, and I would rather have you battle ready."

The last of the words struck Mexico oddly. With Guerrero gaurding him almost constantly, there should be no need for him to train more. There must be a new reason for this caution. Mexico was hot-tempered in battle, but that could not be the reason. That had been true for this entire war. He spoke, "What have you not told me?"  
His leader paused for only a moment before saying, "The loyalist forces have a new commander. He is more skilled than those we have faced before. I hear tell he is impetious, like you."

This news was not enough to shock Mexico. After the victories that Morelos had won, after the breaking of the seige, it was only natural that Spain should choose a new commander. This would not change Mexico's coarse of action. This man did not matter. Mexico responded, "He may be, but you have still won more battles. He should not worry us, not now."

The other fixed his eyes on Mexico. The confidence that deplomacy had flared in him was gone, "I think we should be aware of him. He did break our seige once already." The words immediately impacted.

Mexico stopped walking. He remembered this man. The one who had sent an shock down his spine, whose eyes had held him. That moment had made him certain that he had met someone who wouldn't change his destiny. If this man was now taking a central role in the Spanish offensive, then this was unwelcome news. Regaining his composure, Mexico took a couple quick strides and said, attempting to not appear flustered, "I remember him. What is his name?"

If this man was going to be important, then Mexico wanted to know who he was. Morelos obliged him, "His name is Augustine Iturbide. You should know that Hidalgo offered him a position as a commander and he refused." Mexico let the name burrow its way into his mind. He weighed each sylable and the memory came back of the electrifying feeling that the man had triggered in him. It had had an edge of violence to it, but it hadn't been a feeling of trepedation. If this man was going to be his downfall, he should have felt something different. None of it made sense. The news of his refusal to Hidalgo made it even clearer that this man was a loyalist.

Mexico responded again, "So, you believe this Iturbide is a threat to me?" Morelos was looking at him with an honest concern that was slightly unnerving.  
The answer was honest, "He saw you, and I must take caution."  
Mexico scoffed, feeling his own confidence rise with statment, "But he can't possibly know who I am."

Of that he could be certain. There was no way a mortal could figure out what he was without him telling them. They could understand that he was important, but the true nature of his existence was impossible to guess. However, the other didn't share the optimism, "We can't be certain of that. If he does know and if he is seeking you out, then you should be ready."

Mexico scoffed again, still skeptical that any mortal could be a threat to him. But he said, conceeding to his leader, "If that's what you want, then I will do it." He added, keeping his own caveat, "But if they want to make you king, don't turn them down." He knew that this would get an immediate response.  
As he expected, Morelos said, "I won't let them make that position, let alone let them appoint me to it."

Mexico smiled, still amused by the mortal's refusal. As the leader of the army, he had more power than any man, but he wanted to give that up when the war was over. It was strange for a mortal, but Morelos had a way of making Mexico believe in him. So, Mexico took the order without complaint. He looked forward to hearing the results of diplomacy without having to endure the headache of being locked in a room with feuding politicians.

Mexico felt far more comfortable back in the training field, his sword in his hand. He wished he could have Brazil opposite again because her quick parries kept him sharp. But as it was, he had to content himself with mortal opponents. He had been searching to find one who was at least a shadow of Spain's fighting style. He was not worried about a mortal who may be seeking him out; he was worried about the country who had bested him once before.

His current opponent was one of the few of noble status that followed him and had the skill of years with a sword. But, he did not fight like Spain. He was too controlled, lacking the reckless abandon of Spain's passion. It had also become clear that countries could have years to develop skill with weapons that mortals simply did not have. Each of the men that Mexico had dueled with so far had looked surprised at his skill, which seemed to them to be beyond the age he appeared to be. He concentrated on the fight at hand, even if it was not that difficult. He parried a low blow and riposted, managing to put his sword to the mortal's throat and use his free hand to grab the wrist of the man. Mexico smiled and said, "That was a sloppy attack. You shouldn't leave yourself open like that."  
The man, who had already lost to Mexico several times, nodded and said, "Of course, sir."

Mexico released the other's sword hand and lowered his own sword. Mexico was beginning to wonder if this had been a ploy to get him away from the negotiations of government. This was not improving his skills with a sword. None of these opponents were even offering a challenge, and they were certainly not preparing him to fight the one person who mattered.

He sheathed his sword again and walked over to the table that had been set up on the periphery. He took a jug of water and took a long drink. Then, he ran his hand through his hair, which had been plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was not truly exhausted, but the sun was strong and he had been exherting himself. He heard the quiet footsteps behind him that signaled the presence of his welcome shadow. He turned to Guerrero and said, "What did you think?"

He did not need to clarify what he meant; it was obvious he meant the training. The mortal took another cautious step towards him and said, "You don't fight as well as you could." The comment was blunt, and not what Mexico had been expecting to hear. He had thought that his dispatching of every opponent he had been faced with had proved his prowess.  
Mexico responded immediately to the affront, "Face me yourself and say that again."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mexico saw the man he had been fighting step back, as though reacting to the threat himself. Guerrero did not react the same way; instead he stepped forward and said, "Gladly, but I may not be what you are expecting." Mexico continued to smile. He was certain that a gunsmith would not be much of a threat. But, if it would quiet criticism, Mexico would gladly school him in the use of a sword.

He signaled to the man he had been fighting with, "Give him your sword." The man complied and handed his sword to Guerrero, who tossed it from one hand to the other testing the weight. He stepped into the place of the disarmed man. He raised his sword into position, which was surprisingly correct. Mexico welcomed the challenge. He raised his own sword and waited for the attack.

Guerrero attacked with a strong slash across Mexico's chest. Mexico immediately parried, but was prevented from striking back by another slash came across again. Mexico took a step back and parried again, but he prepared himself to strike. He used his third parry to riposte and start his own attack. As he brought his own strike quick across the other's chest, the man parried but also took several small steps backwards.

From the position of distance, Guerrero was able to make another quick parry and lunge forward again. For this first time during his training, Mexico was caught off gaurd. His instincts were sharp enough to block again, but he was struck by how agressive Guerrero was being. This was not the restrained, aristocratic style he had been fighting up to this point. But this was what he needed: A real challenge.

His grip tightened on his sword and he rebalenced his weight. If this was going to be a real duel, then he wasn't going to lose. As soon as the mortal's attack ended, Mexico pressed forward again, bringing a variety of strikes down against the other's solid defense. He sidestepped , changing his angle of attack. However, the other saw his move and mirrored it. Both of them bypassed the defense and went for the attack, each believing that they had gotten the better of the other. Mexico's sword was at Guerrero's throat, but Guerrero's was also at his own.

Out of sheer surprise that he had not won, Mexico let out a short laugh, "That's why you are gaurding me, I suppose." He lowered his own sword and Guerrero did the same.  
The mortal responded, "You don't fight like yourself. If you did, you would win."

Mexico sheathed his sword again and considered the words. He had always fought the same way, so the words didn't seem to make since. Cautious to not let his uncertaintly show through, Mexico said, "What do you mean?" His tone was meant to communicate that he was still confident, but open to whatever Guerrero was about to say.  
The other first stuck his sword in the ground before saying, "I've watched you in enough battles to know that you don't fight with restraint. But, when you have a sword in your hand you look like someone else."

He paused for a moment, as though ordering his words carefully, and then continued to speak, "Who taught you how to fight?"  
Mexico answered the question honestly, "Portugal." He waited for a response as Guerrero appeared to be searching for his words again. But when he spoke, it was as candid as Mexico had learned to expect, "Do you think you'll be able to beat Spain if you are imitating the country he is most used to fighting?"

The answer made perfect sense to Mexico, but he hadn't thought of it before. Surely Spain knew how to counter his brother's style; they had been fighting each other for centuries. Mexico had never thought that the fact that he fought like Portugal was part of the reason he had lost. But now that he thought about it, that had to be part of the problem. Had Portugal not told him this would happen if he did not find someone else to train with?

This realization was both surprising and crucial. Now that Mexico had realized it, he had to change if he wanted to win against Spain. He said, "No, you have a point. But what would you have me change?"

The man didn't immediately respond, instead he walked back over to where he had planted his own sword in the ground. He took the sword and pulled it out of the ground. Then, without speaking again, he turned the sword around and offered Mexico the handle. The country looked at it for a moment, wondering the point of handing him a different sword. Simply having a different sword would not change how he fought.

All the same, he took this strange invitation. He reached out with his right hand, but Guerrero said, "No, take it with your left hand." Mexico responded immediately, "I can't use a sword with my left hand." There was no reason he should switch his dominant hand, even if that was possible.  
But the other responded, "Yes you can. You can shoot with both hands with the kind of accuracy few men have in their dominant hand. You should be able to use a sword with both hands, probably at the same time."

Still skeptical of this idea, Mexico took the sword anyway. Then he used his right hand to draw his other sword. It felt awkward to hold both weapons, but in theory this should work. He would have to mirror his movements from his right hand to his left, but that would be more difficult in practice. He would also have to change all of his stances slightly to accommodate the extra blade, but that would come with practice.

Now it appeared that he had something to actually practice and improve. There was brilliance in this; introducing another sword would necessarily change his style and make it unpredictable to Spain. He would not be the same man that Spain had faced before, he had changed in his mentality and now his fighting style. It wouldn't be the same fight when they faced each other again. Guerrero said with a slight smile, "When I find another sword, we'll start training your left hand."

By the time night spread from the horizon like spilled ink, Mexico was tired to the bone. It had not been easy to learn to fight with his left hand, even though he was capable of shooting with his left hand. He had spent so much time fighting with only his right hand that it was very hard to teach himself to use both. But, in the time it would take for the new government to be negotiated, he would be able to master it. With nothing else to concentrate on, Mexico would learn quickly. He also looked forward to hearing the results of the day from Morelos.

As he looked at his leader across the table and waited for the report on the day. They had already had dinner and Mexico had done his part in talking about the training of the day. Mexico took a drink of wine before saying, "What did I miss of the politics?"  
Morelos paused for a moment before saying, "As I expected, they do not accept my plan without debate. Hopefully, I can convince them with time."

Mexico was careful to choose his words. He knew how important this was to Morelos, so he could not be derisive about it. But, it was hard to find words to respond to something as foreign as earnest politics. He was used to manipulating the system, not attempting to create one. He said, "What do they want to change?" He was allowing Morelos to be the master of his own domain, but only for now.

Morelos seemed to appreciate the obvious deference. He responded, taking a small drink of wine before he spoke, "As you put it, they want to make me king." Mexico smiled, he had expected as much. Personally, he supported the idea of having a single strong leader. It was what he was used to, and Morelos was a good man who could lead the country well.

Mexico responded, "I don't see why that is a problem. You are a great leader." Morelos sighed and ran one hand through his hair.  
His frustration was obvious, but he was patient enough to explain, "I was afraid you would say that. I need you to understand that this is going to be permanent and I will not leave you in the hands of a despot." Mexico was about to respond, but the other put up his hand to signal that he was not done speaking. Out of respect for the man, Mexico swallowed his comment. Even if he didn't agree, he owed Morelos the silence. The mortal continued to speak, "I am glad you trust me, but I intend for this to last beyond my lifetime. Do you want to spend the rest of your life taking orders from men?"

Mexico thought about it for a moment. He didn't necessarily want to be forced to abide the will of mortals. But he could not see a better alternative. Whether he wanted it or not, he had to listen to his people, be it through the voice of a single person or an assembly. It was the unfortunate truth of being a country; he wasn't completely free to do as he pleased. He said, voicing his own opinion, "I don't, but I don't see another solution. You can't want to place the power in the hands of peasants; they don't know how governance works."

He could see the disappointment cross over Morelos's face. The mortal took another drink of wine as though hoping it would fortify him. Then he spoke again, "I do believe in a democracy. Don't underestimate the lowest of your people; they fight and die for you the same way the criollo aristocracy does. I beg you, don't continue to support the hierarchy that Spain put in place."

Again, the country fell silent. He was thinking about the words and trying to consider them with due diligence. But it was difficult to accept the idea that he could place trust in the vast multitudes of his people. He had enough difficulty placing trust in a single man. In his silence, Morelos leaned forward and put his hand on Mexico's, which was sitting on the table. He said, "I am doing this for you. I don't do any of this out of vanity or ambition. I don't want to be rewarded with complete control because I don't think that will be best for you."

He paused for only a moment and then he added, meeting Mexico's eyes, "Besides, you wouldn't listen to anyone else anyway."

Mexico let out a short laugh. Emotions were rising in his chest, not just because of the touch against his hand. He could see something beautiful in those melting brown eyes. This was true loyalty looking back at him, seeing all his faults and accepting them. The fire that Mexico had seen when he had first met Morelos had not vanished. To the contrary, it had become stronger. Mexico could feel himself warming, as though the other's passion was contagious. Letting out the warmth, he said, "Thank you, Jose."

Then, a specific instance that he had yet to thank his general for. It was something that had showed an astounding degree of care. He said, careful to keep his emotions in check, "I wanted to thank you for what you named the conference." He paused only for a moment to remember that he had not yet told Morelos about his parents. He saw the look of slight confusion pass over the mortal's face, but he knew he would clarify with his next statement. He said, "My mother deserves the recognition. People always say I am really her son, but-"

He stopped himself, if only to reel in his emotions. He wasn't certain what he was trying to say, but it was all coming out now without his consent. He continued, "But I've never felt like it more than now." He stopped himself again, realizing as he did so how much trust he had shown in Morelos by saying what he had said. He didn't feel exposed in the way he expected. He trusted this man. For a moment, there was nothing but silence and it was heavy with anticipation.

Morelos reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment. He unfolded it and placed it on the table between them. Mexico did not look at it until the other said, "That is what I presented to the Congress today. I want you to read the title."

Mexico complied and ran one hand over the parchment to smooth it. He could see the words scrawled across the page in smooth black letters. He spoke the words, "The Sentiments of the Nation?" He smiled as he understood. This was the answer to his outpouring of emotion, a firm affirmation that Morelos wanted to hear his feelings and understand them.

The mortal spoke, "I don't mean to speak for you, but I want to stress that you are what I care about. I want to know what you feel, because that's what we're fighting for." The words made the sensation of warmth in Mexico's chest spread rapidly. He knew himself to be the idea that the movement was fighting for, but this level of personal care was something different.

With one more warm smile, Morelos stood. He said, "You look exhausted. You should be sure to rest; after this is over we will fight again and I fear our enemy has grown stronger." Mexico nodded, understanding that this was again a reference to the man who had taken command of the loyalist army.  
Mexico stood out of respect for his general and said once more, "Thank you."

He sank back into the chair once Morelos was gone. He was touched, genuinely touched by the loyalty and care. He had not expected that he would find a man to replace Hidalgo, but now he knew that he had found someone even more genuine. He found himself wondering if he was missing something, some little bit of selfishness in Morelos that he had not seen. It violated everything he had learned about people for a man to be so committed to ideals. Mexico had never expected a leader so perfect could exist, let alone that his loyalty would come even after scorn.

Mexico looked at the parchment again. He realized that the title was poetic, but it also spoke about how deeply Morelos cared about him. He couldn't help ask himself how he felt right now. He had been running from all of his feelings to win this war, but in this moment he could think about it. Every win had made him bolder, and now the news of a successful loyalist commander didn't truly shake him. He should feel some level of concern about Iturbide, but he didn't.

In this moment, he felt confident in a way that he hadn't since Hidalgo's speech in Dolores. He had Guerrero at his side to keep him sharp and safe. Mexico had no doubt that the man would defend him regardless of the situation. Morelos was the best leader he could possibly hope for. He was surrounded by the best men possible, and they were loyal to him beyond a doubt.

Mexico answered the question for himself: He felt strong and confident. Spain should be scared because Mexico would be ready to fight soon and he had strength. When the diplomacy was over, he would be ready to fight and ready to win this time.


	47. Chapter 47

The month passed with the clash of swords and the low hum of diplomacy, and Mexico began to think that there was contentment in these days. He could feel that the men that surrounded were devoted to him and both strong and savvy. As the days went by, his skill with the swords improved. He listened while Morelos spoke of the way that he slowly won over the other delegates.

Mexico knew that the arrangement would not last forever. Spain was still on the horizon. But, the anxious feeling, the itch to jump back into battle had faded to only an awareness at the edge of his mind. There was a strange peace in finally letting his mind rest on things other than Spain. It was strange to leave the thoughts that had hounded him since childhood aside. He could blame, in part, Morelos' optimism for finally managing to turn his thoughts to the future instead of the past. When Morelos spoke of it, Mexico could imagine what it would be like to be an independent country with a strong, ethical man leading him.

But, late at night the thoughts of a threat returned. It was not Spain that he thought on though. His mind wandered back to Iturbide, the man who had been the only real threat to Mexico's success. His mind replayed the moment that their eyes had met and the feeling that had went through him in that moment. He woke with beads of sweat clinging to his skin. Now he knew the man's name and it became, in his mind, inexorably connected to that face. Mexico could understand now why the man was causing such anxiety for Morelos. There still came news that Iturbide was winning victories, closing in on the south.  
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As had become usual, Mexico was tired as he joined his commander to discuss the progress of politics. As Mexico sat at the table, the mortal spoke. He simply said, "I have done it. They all agree to endorse my proposal tomorrow." There was a slight smile of pride on his lips, and it was well deserved. Mexico could feel the same pride in his own heart. He had known for days that this would come, but the actualization warmed him in a way that nothing else had. The sense of contentment rose again, urging Mexico to believe that this could be his victory.

He responded, "Have they agreed completely? I thought they would only agree if you continued to lead." It had seemed from their conversation that Morelos had been able to bend the others on all other points but this.  
Mexico got the response he expected; the other said, "On that, they were firm. But, I am not the kind of man who cannot compromise." He paused for a moment before saying, "It is not worth it to argue about the finer points while Iturbide cuts into us."

Mexico nodded, understanding exactly what his general meant. His own dreams turned to often to the man, who remained just on the edge of Mexico's mind like a specter. But, the words were unsettling. Mexico saw, only for a moment, a doubt in his commander's eyes. He dismissed it; he would not let himself turn away from the hope he already had. He responded, changing the subject slightly, "So, what position are you taking?"

Morelos looked as though he took no joy in the words he spoke, "For now, I am still general. When we secure independence, I will take the title of Servant of the Nation."

Mexico smirked at the title. It was the kind of title only an idealist would take. And yet, Mexico's existence in the flesh gave the title a different meaning. He said, smiling as he did so, "It's a very nice title, but I suspect you will still command me."  
He could see the laugh that displaced the slight concern in Morelo's dark eyes. The mortal responded, "Well, we both know I can't always reason with you. I will serve you, but you have to listen as well."

Mexico continued to smile, recognizing the jest in the answer. He knew that his answer was completely honest when he said, "I will listen to you. I trust you more than anyone." It was an emotional admission that should speak of peace. But, there was an unspoken tension in the air and Mexico knew the reason. He would not speak it though.

There was no need for him to, as Morelos spoke it next, "It will still be a hard fight though. As soon as my proposition is passed, we will return to the battlefield. Symbolic victory will not mean anything if we lose the fight. I must face Iturbide on the battlefield and reverse the damage he has done."  
Mexico responded with the confidence that was only part theatre, "My sword is sharp. I'm ready to fight again. Are you still concerned that he's searching for me?"

Morelos sighed and then nodded slowly, "I have heard reports that he looks through his captives, searching for a young man. I think it is enough to assume that he knows about you and also knows that to capture you is to win the war." He paused as a moment of agonizing doubt passed over his face. He said, "If I thought you would listen, I would order you to stay here. But since I know you will not, I want you to be protected. To that end, I have promoted Guerrero. He now has a position of command, but his duty remains the same."

Mexico thought over the news. There was only one way that a mortal who had only had momentary contact with him could know both who he was and his importance. That was if Spain had personally told Iturbide. Even with that realization, it was strange that Spain would trust this man with the information. But, Mexico did not need to object to the plan, because the mortal was correct. He would not stay behind and let mortal men fight for him and then be handed the victory like a prize. He would fight for his own freedom, and he would earn it himself. It was not like him to sit on the sideline, even if the one time he had had saved his cause.

Again, Morelos' words revealed a deeper understanding. Without being invited, at least at first, he had seen deep into Mexico and understood him. There was deep comfort in knowing that by the same time the next day they would be officially bound, in the inexorable black ropes of inky signatures, to each other. Even with the smoke of canon fire gathering on the horizon like black storm clouds, it was hard for Mexico to not take the prospect happily. He now had what he needed in a leader, and he was perfectly confident that this time he would have success. Morelos had won far more victories than Hidalgo, and had shown brilliance in strategy. There was no reason to believe that this brief interlude had changed any of that.

The room was bathed in the soft light of the morning and warmed by the unending optimism of nationalism, which had risen at a fever pitch in the last month. It was infectious, pulling at Mexico's heartstrings in a way that was invigorating and far beyond his own control. He already knew the words that Morelos was going to speak, but they excited him all the same. He had never been fully in favor of this route of diplomacy and declarations, but there was an astounding finality to it.

Mexico's position would finally be made clear, in words approved by his people, to Spain to read and reread. There would be no denying this, even for Spain. As Morelos spoke, the other men in the chamber stood in a unified gesture of consent. Mexico's heart beat hard in his chest, racing at this reality. This was a moment as powerful as the moment when Hidalgo had declared a revolution.

Each man who had stood took a turn and walked forward to sign the document. As each placed their name upon the document, Mexico felt another swell in the music of his heartbeat. He had doubted this, but in this moment that doubt was gone. He put his hand on the handle of his sword, now one of the two that he wore. This document would enrage Spain, there was no doubt.

The war that had already raged for years would intensify now that the sides were so clearly labeled and opposed. But Mexico was ready to fight again. He was ready to face Spain again after he had spilled enough loyalist blood to stain the earth red. As the final proclamation was made, Mexico's mind was already far ahead, facing Spain's new hound of war.  
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The encampment was set up just outside of Puruaran, which was little more than a town. And yet, there was good information that Iturbide was leading his forces just to the North of here. This was the next outpost he would need to extend his campaign South. Morelos was dead set on stopping the man here. Mexico had no scruples about going to battle; he had been waiting through small scrimmages to have a battle against this man.

Letters that told of his victories came many and often, so Mexico was justly excited to see what he would do when they met. The letters did not just tell of victories; they also spoke of cruelties. Iturbide was using the tactics at his disposal to instill fear in his enemies. He was using and discarding civilians at his leisure. Mexico heard his own men and commanders condemning the abuses, but he could not do the same. When this movement had begun, it had been a pure cause, but Mexico knew that he had civilian blood on his own hands. Morelos had renewed the purity and honor, but that did not change what Mexico had already done. He could not rightly condemn a man who only did the same as he. There was still some cunning in it. The tactic was working, the way that Iturbide's name was on every lip was proof of that. He had his fame and the fear that he sought to create.

There was a sense of disquiet settled over the camp the night before the battle. Mexico was walking, the way he did when he was anxious. The feeling of impending battle had returned and Mexico walked to dissipate it. As he wandered out of his tent, he was joined by Philippines, who had been distant during the past month. She spoke, without waiting for him to give her an invitation, "So, we are going to battle again. You only pace like this when something is coming."

Mexico did not bother to break stride as she joined him, instead letting her match her own steps to his. She had chosen to speak to him, so he was not required to slow for him. But, he did respond, "Yes, I am finally going to fight again." She was quiet for a moment. Mexico glanced casually backwards to see that two men were following him. They were both under Guerrero's command, and they were only a precaution.

Finally, Philippines spoke to him again, "I am sorry for that."  
Mexico turned to her and said, immediately reacting to the apology, "What do you mean by that?" He didn't understand why she should react that way to such exciting news. But they way she looked at him was disconcerting.  
She struggled with her words as she said, "You seemed different, like you were finally unburdened. I didn't want that to end for you."

Her response was far too sentimental, but it didn't strike him as strange. The sense of propriety between them had disappeared too long ago. Her distance recently had been mystifying though. He had been too busy with his own training to worry about what she had been doing. But, these words seemed to explain why she had been keeping such distance. She had been trying not to interfere with him while he seemed content. He said, speaking to himself as much as he was to her, "Piri, we both knew it would come back to this. I will not be at peace until I have Antonio bleeding out at my feet."

He stopped walking and turned so that he was looking at her and said, "But I'm not going to lose again. I'm going to fight my way back to my own capital and I'm going to be free." He said it with absolute confidence, it was a feeling that had not faded since he had watched the Sentiment of Nations being signed. But, he didn't see his own confidence reflected in her. So, he put his hand playfully under her chin and said, "Don't worry about me."

She grimaced slightly, "Something isn't right. I can feel it. I don't want to see you hurt again." Mexico shook off her warning. He was ready, and he knew it. Morelos had not failed him yet, and he still had a firm strategy. Nothing had changed.  
Mexico said, still standing completely still, "I'm not going to lose. You do not need to worry about me."

With that, he turned again and continued to walk. He had only had a respite, and he knew it. The war had not waited while Mexico regained his strength, trained, and formulated a plan for what he would do once the war was over. He had known that, but it had been self-deception keeping him happy and unaware.

He walked again, this time towards the edge of the camp. His feet carried him to a solitude, or as close to one as he could get with the constant trailing guards. Had he still been young and reckless, he would have found peace in the thunder of horse's hooves and the wind in his hair. But he was not a fool, not anymore. He stood at the very edge of his own encampment, with his back to the light of his own fire.

His eyes were fixed on the horizon, where he could see the lights of different fires. The enemy was so near that Mexico could almost smell the smoke and hear the scraping of whetstones against cavalry sabers. There was a chill in the air, speaking of the impending conflict. Mexico could feel it singing in his blood, there was going to be a battle when day broke. But, he could not find himself concerned. He knew that when the guns fell silent again he would have the victory he needed.

But, as he looked at the distant lights of the enemy camp, he thought of the pair of bright eyes that had looked straight through him. He tried to turn his thoughts away from Iturbide, but the man kept intruding. His eyes were haunting Mexico and it worried him. If this man was so important that a single encounter had left such a lasting impression, it was unlikely that the battle tomorrow would not be the last time Mexico faced him.  
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The sun rose and stained the sky blood red, an ominous warning of the way the earth would soon have the same stain. Mexico slipped one sword into the scabbard on his belt and then took the other sword and slipped it into the opposite scabbard. His hands were completely steady, not touched by the enormity of the day. It was his routine to make sure all of his weapons were in place before he rode into battle. He put one hand on the handles of his guns, which were tucked into the back of his sash. Both were loaded with a single bullet, ready to be fired on a moment's notice. The blade of his knife was also nestled comfortably against the skin of his wrist.

There was comfort in this arsenal, it would allow him to protect himself. But, he also knew that when he turned around he would see whoever was assigned to guard him. To his own surprise, he saw Guerrero standing at the door of his tent. Mexico smiled and said, "So you've decided to protect me yourself today, Vicente?" He paused for a moment and then said, "I thought you had started delegating."

Since Guerrero had gotten a position of command, he had not spent the same amount of time with Mexico. But, his presence here was telling. It meant that the man had no other priority in the battle today, and it also made it clear that Morelos' fears about Iturbide had not eased. The mortal responded, "I told you I wouldn't leave your side, and I meant it. The general tells me that our enemy is looking for you, so I will take no risks."

Mexico sighed; he had the distinct feeling that he was being fussed over like a child again. He didn't enjoy constant supervision, even when he understood the reason behind it. He was aware that Morelos knew how much he despised being treated like this, but the fear of losing was stronger. Mexico spoke again, making no secret of his irritation, "Do you think I can't handle myself?"

He had intended his tone to be intimidating, but the other knew him better. Guerrero responded with a slight smile, "I know you can, but that doesn't change that it is my duty to keep you safe." He gestured to the opening of the tent and added, "We should go join the rest of the army, unless you want to keep arguing when you know neither of us will yield."

The country felt a smile appear on his face. He knew that the mortal was correct, especially with the time that they had spent together. He responded, "We wouldn't want to keep Jose waiting." He turned and walked out of the tent, and found that his horse was already saddled and ready. He didn't question who had prepared his horse, but he did smile at the thought of how much effort it must have taken to get his intemperate horse saddled and already waiting for him. The question he had not asked was answered by Guerrero said, "Your horse is like you."

Mexico realized that he should have guessed as much. Philippines had never been able to deal well with his horse. Deciding not to make another sharp remark, Mexico mounted. He was far too anxious to continue this banter. He could feel the excitement in his blood, urging him forward. He needed to see his enemy and the time had come.

As he joined Morelos on the edge of the battlefield, he immediately said, "Are we ready yet?" It was a vague question, an invitation for an entire debrief.  
Morelos obliged him, "Our scouts report that Iturbide moved his troops in the night. They are close enough now to attack."  
Mexico asked the obvious question, "Then why don't they?"

He paused for a moment to consider what he would do himself with the same strategy. Only one answer came to his mind, and it made his hand tighten on his reigns. He spoke it between gritted teeth, his voice heavy with contempt, "He's trying to lure us into a trap. That clever bastard."

The mortal nodded, apparently having already reached that conclusion. Mexico glanced over at his leader and realized how tense the man appeared. He was leaning forward in his saddle, and his hands were clenched tight. Mexico could not recall a time he had seen Morelos so anxious before a battle. The mortal spoke, echoing Mexico's own anger, "He has the most defensible position and he knows it. He doesn't have to attack; he only needs to wait for us to do it."

Mexico nodded. However, he couldn't help but admire the brilliance of the move. As with the last time they had met, a bold move had tipped the balance of power. But, this couldn't change anything. Mexico responded, "And we must attack. We can not wait here forever."  
Morelos looked directly at him and said, "You are right, but this puts us at a disadvantage. We're going to hit him with a charge, he should buckle under the pressure."

The strategy lacked the sophistication of other battles, but it should be brutally effective. Finally safe with being deferent, Mexico said, "Should I stay here?" His instincts told him to lead the charge, to unleash his own wrath on his enemies. And yet, he knew that to do so would be reckless. He also respected Morelos enough to not make the decision himself. He would, even grudgingly, follow the orders that he was given.

As he expected, Morelos denied him, "I know what you want me to say, but I do want you here." Mexico stopped the retort in his throat. He would not object to being held back. He had faith that he would have his chance. Still, he felt his horse stir restlessly beneath him. He patted the side of the black neck, feeling the muscles tensed just beneath the skin.  
He spoke softly in his horse's ear, "It's alright." In response, the horse whinnied impatiently. He smiled, amused by how well his horse's emotions matched his own.

The air was filled with the tinny sound of trumpets, singing of the feeling of mounting tension in the air. Mexico stood up in his stirrups, deciding that he would at least see what was happening if he was not taking part. The charge broke into Mexico's field of vision. The morning sun glinted off the steel of drawn cavalry sabers. Mexico's breath caught in his throat. He anticipated the clash, even though he was far away from it. He was perfectly still as the moment hung in the air. Not even a breath of air disturbed the stillness of the single moment.

Then the bellow of canons broke it, starting the chaos of the world again. The now familiar smoke of canon fire rose into the air. The sound of their thunder was joined by the battle cries of men and the screams of horses as they were blasted to the side by hot earth and iron. Mexico's ears were full of the roar of battle, but he still heard the order when Morelos commanded their own canons to return fire. The sound was deafening, letting no other sound break through. And yet, Mexico could hear his own sharp shallow breaths, his heart pounding in time with the drums of war.

He longed to join the battle, but he knew that he could not. He leaned forward and the wind, which had resumed as the canons had fired, carried the sounds of cries and shouts to him. Morelos spoke to him, clearly trying to soothe his country, "Be calm. The first assault will break his line. Then you will get the chance to strike at the heart of his forces." The words were confident, even if the tone was meant to soothe.

But the continued percussion of Mexico's heart was telling him the opposite. From this place, he could not see whether the battle was being won or lost. There was only the continual carnage spilling across the field. Morelos signaled another wave of canon fire, which displaced even more of the earth when it impacted. Again, Mexico felt an insurmountable restlessness stirring inside of him. He couldn't wait out this battle, but he also would not be able to take part, not yet. From what he could see, the second volley was an attempt to break through the battle since the initial charge hadn't had the intended effect.

Mexico noticed out of the corner of his eye that Guerrero had urged his own horse forward. He said, directing his comment at Morelos, "Sir, it would give the men strength to see their country among them." He added, stealing a quick glance at Mexico, "I won't let anyone hurt him, I can assure you." He glanced at Mexico again, and this time the look was paired with a smile. He could see what Mexico longed to do and he was attempting to make it possible.

Morelos looked like he was carefully considering the options. Finally, he responded, "You have my permission. But-" He looked directly at Mexico, "You know what is at risk. Don't put our cause in danger." It was enough of a blessing, and even the caveat was only a warning. Mexico was not to allow himself to be captured, but that was a remote possibility and only if Mexico's own skills failed. He was glad of the opportunity to fight though. He had been itching to spill blood again.  
He responded to Morelos with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, "I will be careful."

He turned his horse and immediately started riding in the direction of the battle. Guerrero easily matched his pace and rode beside him. Mexico said, "That was well played, Vicente."  
The mortal responded with a slight smile and a knowing look in his eye, "I know you are not one to be held back." Mexico expressed his gratitude with only a look. He was already focused on entering the fray.

He loosed his saber in its sheathe and then drew a pistol. He urged his horse forward, laying into his sides heavily with his spurs. The strong scent of gunpowder filled his nose, which only excited him. As he cut into the thick of the battle, Mexico fired a single shot. It hit a soldier in loyalist colors in the back, causing the man to fall. Mexico did not stop as he rode further into the battle. He used the same confidence that he had in any other battle. He needed to get to the very heart of the clash. The driving force in his chest would not let him be content to be on the edge of the battle.

He maneuvered his own horse between the bodies that littered the field. He pulled his other pistol from his belt and fired immediately, his aim still impeccable. He felt alive again, completely alive on the battlefield. His blood was on fire, pounding through his veins. He turned his horse, taking in the entire view to decide where he was most needed. He stood up in his stirrups to get a better view.

Then, striking eyes met his own. Iturbide was not far away, also astride a horse. He had scanned the field the same time Mexico did. Their eyes locked and Mexico's heart seemed to stop. The fire in his blood was extinguished, and replaced with something electric and chilling. The world around him became nothing more than a dull roar in his ears.

And yet, every detail of the enemy commander was perfectly clear. His uniform indicated that he had been promoted several times since Mexico had last seen him; rightly so considering the victories he had won. But the face had not changed, and neither had the piercing eyes. Mexico couldn't pull his eyes away from the mortal. Nothing else seemed to exist but this moment, this man. Even as a decisive smile appeared on Iturbide's face, Mexico was still drawn to him. He knew what the look on the man's face meant; it was the same look as any predator who had found its prey. The look made it perfectly clear that Mexico was Iturbide's only target, his only priority.

Then the entire world exploded. A cannon ball had impacted on the ground very close to Mexico, knocking him off his horse and out of his revelry. His senses returned as he hit the ground hard. All of the air was knocked out of his lungs by the impact, but there was no pain. He had landed on his side, but rolled onto his back. Mexico stared straight up at the sky until the ringing in his ears that the fall had triggered faded.

He took a deep shaky breath before trying to sit up. His left side hurt, but there was no visible injury. Mexico moved all of his fingers to make sure that nothing was broken. He sat up slowly, still feeling pain shooting down his entire left flank. He looked around, attempting to assess the situation. Somehow, he had managed to lose all of his guards in the chaos of the battle. But, all he needed to do was get his horse back on his feet and return to normalcy.

He turned his attention to his horse. The animal was laying on its side, taking deep pained breaths that made its flanks heavy. Mexico got to his feet and walked over to where his horse was laying. There was an obvious matting of fur, colored red by a gush of blood on the horse's front foreleg. The exposed, shattered end of a bone protruded from the flesh; the white was obvious against the black hair.

Mexico's heart sank. He knew what he had to do with a broken leg, but he dreaded it. He reloaded his pistol, but his hands were shaking. He spilled some of the black powder as he attempted to pour it down the barrel. He managed to get the pistol loaded, but it took far longer than it should have. Iturbide was looking for him, that much was clear. And he now knew exactly where Mexico was. He had to move unless he wanted to be captured. He had promised that he would come back, and he owed that to Morelos.

But, Mexico had to grant his horse mercy; he owed that much to the animal that had served him so well in battle after battle. He kneeled down next to his horse's head. He could see the terror and pain in the big dark eyes. He gently stroked the horse's smooth black mane and said as softly as he could, "Shhhh…it will be alright." He could feel the way the animal was trembling, which made it even harder to put the barrel of the gun against the horse's head. Mexico knew he needed to, but his finger was still shaking as he prepared to pull the trigger. Trying not to think about what he was doing, he said, "I'm sorry." and pulled the trigger.

Mexico slowly opened his eyes again, taking deep breaths in an attempt to fight off the emotion that was attempting to cloud his mind. He, for one of the first times since Spain had converted him, had a strong urge to cross himself. But that gesture had no place on the battlefield.

He then turned and found the point of a sword at his throat. It immediately became clear that he had waited too long to move. He fully expected to see Iturbide again when he looked up at the man holding the sword. But, as he slowly glanced up and realized that the regalia was that of a petty officer, little more than a foot soldier. But, the man looked supremely pleased with himself. He said, his voice hardly conveying the authority he was attempting to convey, "Stand up or I will kill you."

Mexico's mind frantically searched for a way to get out of the situation, but he could not. If the man was earnest, and he probably was, then there was not time for Mexico to draw his own sword. Had one of his pistols still been loaded, he could have shot the mortal easily, but as it was he was practically unarmed. He cursed himself for falling victim to such an unimpressive man.

He slowly stood, following the order even though every fiber of his being detested it. The man's smile widened, confident in his triumph. Then a bullet hit him right between the eyes. With the same smile on his face, the man's body fell to the ground. Mexico hadn't heard the shot over the general commotion, but he was glad of it. He turned to see Guerrero holding a smoking pistol. He said, without even pausing, "Looks like you do need me."

Mexico let out a single short laugh. He couldn't be more relieved to see his protector. The man looked especially splendid too, with the midday sun shining behind him. The trappings of his new position fit him perfectly. Mexico felt a warmth rise in his face, but it was hard to say what was causing it. The chill that had washed over him when he had seen Iturbide was completely dissipated by this welcome sight, replaced by something like a glow. Mexico said, "I'm glad you're here."  
Guerrero extended his hand to Mexico and said, "I told you I would protect you, and I will."

Mexico recognized that the hand was an offer for a horse, but it would not be able to fight from that position. But Mexico was shaken by the near capture. Again, he had been reckless. He took the hand offered to him and allowed Guerrero to pull him up onto the horse. It was strange riding with another man, but it was better than being left on the battlefield. He glanced around and realized that they were losing the battle. It was a sight that was hauntingly familiar. The only difference was his leader and the man that he currently had his arms around.

Guerrero turned his horse back towards safety, making no attempt to change the balance of the battle. He spoke to Mexico as he rode furiously, "What happened? It isn't like you to be so careless." There was a level of concern in the man's voice that tugged at Mexico's heart. It was so genuine; it sounded like the man was genuinely upset that he had been only minutes away from being too late.  
Mexico responded, trying not to sound too ashamed, "It was random cannon fire. I couldn't have avoided it."

It was only a half truth. The canon fire had unhorsed him, but he would probably have seen it coming if he had not been so lost in Iturbide. He had been distracted, but he couldn't admit that to this man. He couldn't let Guerrero know about his moment of weakness. After all of the training they had done, Mexico had failed because of random chance. But, it was more than just random chance. The sensation that had shot through him at the sight of his enemy was worrying. There was no way for Mexico to deny that the man would shake his destiny.

They soon returned to Morelos, who immediately said, "Good, you're back." Mexico didn't respond; he couldn't admit what his recklessness had almost cost. But, it appeared that Morelos was not actually expecting him to respond. The mortal was far too focused on the strategy to have a conversation. Instead, he spoke again, seemingly to himself, "Now that you are back, I can call the retreat."

To this Mexico had to react to. He burst out, "We can't retreat, not now." Something between desperation and rage crept into his voice. Mexico couldn't help but blame himself, his own mistake. Finally, Morelos rounded on him, speaking with the sharpness of a military leader. His voice left no doubt that he meant every word he spoke, "We cannot hold this position. I will not risk our enemy overtaking us."  
Mexico responded, not completely culled by the words, "But there are still men fighting."  
The mortal responded, and there was a hard edge in his voice that invited no discussion, "We have to cut our losses unless we want to lose everything."

Mexico bit back his retort. He shouldn't care; they were only people. He was a country and people should be little more than chess pieces to him. And yet, when he looked back as they rode away, it was not just the loss that he mourned.  
___________________________________________________________________

The rebuilt camp had an eery silence as night set in, as though no one dared speak of the calamity of the day. It seemed that to speak a word of the defeat or to acknowledge the comrades that were gone was to breath life into it again. The silence spoke of a stubborn denial that lay deep in the insurgent mentality. But to Mexico, it was a sullen, mournful silence. He could feel the emotions in the air, even if they remained unspoken.

The night itself was black; clouds had completely enveloped the moon and the stars and let no light escape their grasp. Mexico had spent most of the night avoiding everyone. He didn't want to see their disapproval. Eventually, though, he needed to confront his own mistake. He needed to speak to Morelos and needed to explain himself. He could still feel the ghost of the point of the sword against his throat. He had been so close, close enough to truly shake him. He had risked everything for his own longing for glory, and he couldn't be that selfish again.

He couldn't pinpoint where this feeling of shame was emerging from, but it was markedly different from the anger he had felt when Hidalgo had failed him. Somehow, he felt more responsible for this loss than any before it.

He found Morelos in the most logical location: With a large map of the region spread out on a table. Mexico walked closer with some reluctance. But, as he approached, Morelos looked up at him and smiled slightly, "I thought you were avoiding me."  
Mexico walked to the other side of the table and said, being intentionally careful, "I needed some time to myself."

The mortal gave him a knowing look. He had been bent over the map, but he straightened up to look at Mexico even more fully. His look of understanding was explained when he said, "Guerrero told me what happened. I plan to promote him for his action. It is past time I make him a lieutenant. But, I can see why your pride is wounded."

Mexico let out a slow breath, deciding that he should be honest. He knew that the man had always been open with him, so there was no other option. He said, "I did not mean to lose the battle for us." He stopped just short of actually apologizing; it was not in his nature to be apologetic. But, all the same, he hoped that the man would realize what he was trying to say.  
Morelos shook his head slightly, and looked down at the map, "It was my fault, not yours. I should have known not to take the risk."

Mexico hesitated, wondering what he should say about the encounter with Iturbide. But, to do so would be to tell Morelos that Iturbide would continue to be a thorn in his side at best, and at worst would be his undoing. There was no denying that Iturbide would be important to Mexico, but Mexico couldn't say how. There was something deep in the instinct that told him not to run from Iturbide. It made very little sense.

Mexico decided that it was not worth the worry he would cause Morelos to tell the man about it. All he said was, "You were right, though. Iturbide is looking for me; I saw him."  
The response he got was a short nod as Morelos turned his attention back to the map. He said softly, "I expected as much. He knows how important you are."

Mexico, now satisfied that he was forgiven, walked over to join the mortal in contemplating the map. It was clear that Iturbide had made gains, but they were not impossible to reverse. Mexico spoke, "So, what do we do next." The mortal put a finger firmly on where they were currently and said, "This is a strong position, and it can be held with relatively few people. I will leave a garrison here. But I can draw him in with a larger force."

The plan sounded good already. A trap would be the best way to deal with a man who advanced with a brazen arrogance; he would not see it coming because he would not believe that he could be lured. But there would have to be good bait, and Mexico suspected he already knew what, or rather who, would serve as bait. Still, he asked the question, "What are you going to use to lure him?"

Morelos looked directly at Mexico and said the words that the country had been expecting, "If he knows you are with me, then he will chase me for hope of you."  
Mexico raised a skeptical eyebrow, "I thought you said you wanted to keep you safe." The other smiled, and Mexico was struck by how paternal the look was. The dark eyes spoke volumes about how sincere his desire to keep his country out of harm's way was.

He spoke again, "I do, but I also want you to be free. The best way to achieve freedom is to defeat Iturbide." Mexico nodded. He understood completely, and the tactical thinking was sound. But on another level he relished the chance to continue to face Iturbide.  
The glimpses, now two of them, left Mexico more fascinated than ever. He said, with a very slight smirk, "I can play bait, for now. I'm used to being chased."


	48. Chapter 48

The days passed with a strange frenetic monotony. It was not unusual to be on the war path for days, if not weeks, at a time. But, this was a game of cat and mouse that was new. There were no longer big battles with the mighty sound of canon fire that could leave a field pocked and devastated once they were finished. Instead, both Morelos and Iturbide had dispatched small groups of troops to fight, neither willing to risk an all-out defeat quite yet.

Mexico learned of the outcome of each fight, since they could not be accurately called battles, by letter. He knew that Iturbide was not present at them either; the mortal was orchestrating his campaign from the safety of his officers tent. And yet, almost every letter still brought news of victories. Morelos was able to win small victories of his own, but the success that he had had before was eluding him.

In subtle ways, Mexico was beginning to see the effect of it. The frustration was gouging deep trenches into the man's skin. Morelos had never exactly been a slim man, but it was clear that the stress was causing him to lose weight. It was hard to say exactly why, but with each loss he seemed to lose a piece of his gravitas. And yet, Mexico knew he could not lose faith in the man. He had to tell himself that he could not have realistically expected a steady stream of victories, even with a skilled commander. He should have known that this would come; life was neither as fair or as predictable as that.

But, the unfortunate result was that there was no way to lure Iturbide into the trap that Morelos had planned. The day had barely dawned when yet another letter came, this one was delivered by a messenger who looked to be half-dead from the ride he had endured. Mexico knew that he should take the letter directly to Morelos, but he wanted a moment alone to read it.

He broke the messy seal of the commander in the field had left and let the details of the scrimmage unfold before him. He sat down at the small desk that was allotted him and read the letter with an almost rabid single-mindedness. Every word, written in the hurried, clipped prose of man of war, imprinted itself on his mind. Even without the details, he could imagine what it had been like. He could see it in his mind's eye, every hoofbeat and musket ball. The words spoke of another defeat, but it was that which brought a smile to Mexico's face.

He couldn't stop himself from admiring his enemy. There was such grace, such strategy. It was not hard to bring to mind the face of the man again, and it was also not a stretch to think of him bent over a map, carefully planning his next move. There was something supremely appealing about it, even if the man was on entirely the wrong side of the battle. For some reason, it didn't seem to be such a hinderance.

Mexico had closed his eyes and let himself imagine the scrimmage, since it was the closest he would get to a battle any time soon. The smile on his face widened, and he found himself running his hands over the words on the parchment, as though this could make them clearer. It would be quite the day when he finally got the chance to defeat Iturbide, and once he had the man captured he would have the chance to speak to him. He could imagine that the mortal had an interesting mind, certainly a strategic one.

Mexico's train of thought was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. He immediately folded up the letter and placed it on the table. There was only one way to repair the seal, and there was not time to remelt the wax. So, he would simply have to accept that his leader would know that he had read the letter. He could explain it away easily enough without giving away the reason he wanted to read about Iturbide's exploits.

He turned his attention to the door, turning to open it. The knock sounded too forceful to be Philippines, and there was no way that his brother would be bold enough to come speak to him. That left only one option. When he opened the door, his hunch was confirmed. The man who had knocked on his door was mortal and certainly one of those under Guerrero's command. Mexico expected that this was yet another summons to talk about war strategy; although, it did seem strange to be summoned before the letter reporting the night's losses had been read. Although, considering the haste with which they moved, it could be explained. He said, speaking to what he believed to be the obvious reason for this visit, "Does the general need me so early?"

He smiled slightly, already expecting the response he would get. But, instead, the man said, "No, a rider just arrived. She won't give her name, but she insists she must see you." Mexico attempted to figure out who could possibly be searching him out. Much less a woman who sought him. But, there was no harm in going to see who she was; it was not as though a single civilian would be a threat to him.  
But, he still needed to ask before he took action, "Does your commander know about this?"  
He would not act without knowing that Guerrero knew where he was; he had entrusted his safety to the man and would not risk himself. The man quickly said, "The lieutenant intercepted her at the gates and sent me to get you."

Mexico nodded and said, "Then I see no reason to delay."  
He grabbed the letter from the desk and shoved it into the man's hand, saying as he did so, "Give this to the general. It came in this morning."

He did not need directions to where he was needed; it was obvious that the unnamed guest was being held in the foyer of this building, where she would gain the least information about strategy. Mexico made his way there quickly, his mind still desperately figure out who could be waiting for him. Even as he searched the recesses of his mind, he could find no satisfying answer.

He was intercepted mid-thought by Guerrero, who said, "You didn't have to come. I could have sent her away if you asked. But, she asked for you by name." Mexico scoffed, not at the ineloquent string of words, but at the idea that his human name meant anything.  
He explained his interjection by saying, "My name his hardly unique. How can you be so certain she means me?"  
The other stopped in his tracks and looked directly at his country and said, "I never said which name. She said, 'I am here to see New Spain.' I assumed that to be you."

The words shot through him, leaving a chill in their wake. If someone was asking for him with his title as a viceroyalty, then they had known him only during his time as a colony, It had to be someone with whom he had not had contact since the independence had started. This, far from elucidating the situation, made it even more baffling. There was no choice but to continue walking and face whatever surprise was awaiting him.

Mexico felt himself take several nervous breaths as he got closer. He hated not knowing what to expect, especially with regard to something this personal. He walked through the door into the foyer, and did not immediately recognize the back turned to him. The long black hair fell straight to her waist, although pieces were braided into a complicated pattern across the crest of her head. A thin, pale blue cloak clung to her body. She turned, and Mexico took an involuntary step backwards.

Puerto Rico smiled the moment she saw him, but the look did nothing to calm him. If there was a single person he was not willing to face, it was his loyalist fiancé. Her name slipped from between his lips, "Cat." He had not intended it to sound like encouragement, but he knew that it did the moment he said it.  
She responded with a sweet smile, "Alejandro."

She took a couple steps forward, as though she was going to embrace him. But, he knew that he could not return her affection. Last he had known, she was a loyalist and would not understand why he was throwing himself so fully into his independence. Her face fell immediately as she realized that this was a rebuff. She spoke, her voice breaking in a way that he had never heard before, "What are you doing? I just want to have you home again."

Mexico felt the sound go straight through him, realizing how strange and different it was. There was another source of guilt though; he had not even thought of her for years. It had hardly occurred to him that she would be suffering from his absence. But, now that she was here looking directly at Mexico, her expression lost and longing, it was impossible to ignore. The affections that had been dormant for so long now came bubbling back to the surface, urging him to take her in his arms and comfort her. But, his mind held him back; his emotions couldn't rule him.

The words, not the actions, demanded his response. He said, trying to remain as sharp as he would with anyone else, "Tell me where home is to you, Catalina." Her confusion was evident in the way all the tension went out of her face, leaving it expressionless.  
She responded slowly, "Where could I mean but Madrid? Although, it has not quite been home since all this conflict started."

Mexico sighed; that answer had been what he had expected and only confirmed that she was still a loyalist. There was no choice now but to rebuff her. Mexico did not want to turn her away, but he had a more important cause to put before her. The feelings that were bubbling up in him were from a different time, and belonged to a different person. He was no longer New Spain, and he was no longer bound to her and the feelings she brought forth. But still, his heart was crying at him to embrace her and tell her that everything was going to be alright. He said, keeping his voice completely level, "I belong here. I don't want to go back."

He balled his hands into fists, keeping his emotions in check. There was more that he could say to her, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He was counting on Puerto Rico's lady like deference to allow him the silence to wrestle with himself. But, there was a sudden spark in her eyes. She took a slight step, squaring her stance. She was no longer just a petite figure wrapped in blue silk; she was suddenly imposing in her own right. Her voice was resonating as she spoke, "This isn't like you. Come back with me now before this all goes too far."

Mexico could not find himself scared of her, or the vague consequences she was implicating. He had known the consequences of going to war with Spain since the beginning. He squared his own stance, and it felt surreal to be facing off with his sweet, pliable fiancé. But, it was clear that she was no longer playing the soft spoken lady of the court. The affection that had been sweet and accessible had hardened in her eyes, creating this shell that was proving so impenetrable.

But, Mexico would not back down either, "You don't understand anything. I know what I want and I will not turn back for anything or anyone."  
Again, she did not waiver as she responded, her voice taking on an uncanny tone that conveyed both a tender, stirring affection and a hard edge that would not yield, "I do not know what quarrel you had with Antonio, and I do not care. I am not asking you to come back for him; I'm asking you to come back for me."

She paused and looked up at him pleadingly. There was a quality of melting about her eyes that made Mexico waiver. She finished, "I'm asking you to love me enough to let this all go." He wanted to believe that he could do just that, but he knew what would happen if he did. Spain would jealously claim him, likely ending his engagement to Puerto Rico. This had always been a farce, little more than words that could be dismissed. Spain had never intended to release him from his greedy grasp, even if it was for a wedding that Spain had planned himself.

Then, the words that Brazil had spoken so long ago came back to him, "She binds you to the Spanish empire." He had not believed the words when they had been spoken, but now they threw a new pall of suspicion over this visit. It seemed all too convenient that she should appear now and attempt to talk him into abandoning his cause. Brazil had called her a clever ploy, and it was possible that was all this surprising visit was. Spain had exhausted his strategies of war, so this was his attempt at emotional manipulation.

Mexico cursed his traitorous heart for how fully it had been falling for this blatant manipulation. Hadn't this been Spain's plan since the beginning? He had held Mexico's affection for Puerto Rico hostage, and now that Mexico was rebelling, he need only remind Mexico of what he would lose. There was also no way for her to know that he was here without Spain's military intelligence. There was no denying it: whether this plea was heartfelt or not hardly mattered. Spain could be manipulating them both, but that only made the trap all the more insidious.

Mexico took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he had to say. The words seemed to want to cling to his vocal chords, trying to stave off this irreversible moment, "But you are asking for him. What did he ask you to say to me?" She shook her head, as though she could deny that this moment was even happening. Mexico had not realized the growl that his voice had become until he realized that she was looking at him like he was a stranger.  
There was a strain of tears in her voice as she responded, "I don't know what you're talking about. He told me where you were, nothing more."

Mexico smirked; this answer was only confirmation that this was all a manipulation. Spain had sent her here to be another reason for Mexico to abandon his bid for independence. But, it also made it clear that she had no conscious part in this. Frustrated by the way she continued to look at him, Mexico said, "He's using us both, can't you see that? Spain doesn't care about how you feel about me; he's just using you to get me back."

Again, Puerto Rico shook her head, more violently this time. One of her arms crossed protectively across her body like it was attempting to physically protect her from the truth. Her fingers sunk deep into the flesh of her own arm. She whispered a single word to herself, "No." Mexico's hands itched to stroke her hair and console her. He balled them even more firmly into fists to stop them from enacting what they wanted to do. He couldn't lose everything for a woman; even if he did harbor strangely genuine feelings for her.

She bit her lower lip before saying, "If you cannot give up this lunacy, then I can't love you." The words were attempting to be strong, but they quivered in the air and broke. But, Mexico could see the ultimatum for what it was. This was the moment to decide between the future and the past for both of them. Mexico bit back the final piece of information that he could use to prove his point. There was no need to tell her about the reason Spain wanted him back, or the jealous lust that would allow no place for her. There was nothing left to do but to affirm his own conviction.

Not allow himself even hesitation, Mexico reached down and pulled the engagement ring from his finger. The force with which he removed the ring tore flesh from his knuckle, but the pain didn't matter. He held the ring out to her and said, "Then this is yours. I hope you find someone who makes you happy." They were the only words he could muster that still seemed sincere. But, there was a certain satisfaction in thinking of Puerto Rico handing the ring back to Spain as conformation that yet another of his plans had failed.

Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes as Puerto Rico took the ring. As her hand brushed his, Mexico could feel the way she was shaking. There was nothing he could do to change that and he was glad that he hadn't been entirely honest about Spain. She burst out, apparently losing all semblance of composure, "How can you do this? How can you turn your back on everyone?" She took another step forward, getting close enough that she could reach out and touch him. Mexico heard several steps and the cocking of guns behind him in response.  
He responded, trying to be a cold as possible, "This is about more than that. Go home Cat, a military encampment is no place for a lady."

Then, another female voice rang out behind him, "Alejandro, the general wants to see-" Philippines stopped short as she caught sight of Puerto Rico. The smile that appeared on her face could be described as nothing but triumphant. By contrast, Puerto Rico's eyes met hers and turned hard. White hot rage appeared on her face, contorting her usually delicate features.  
She hissed, "What is she doing here?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Mexico saw Philippines take a step forward and he put out his arm to stop her from getting too close to Puerto Rico. When he glanced back, he noticed that her hand was clenched on the handle of her knife. That only affirmed Mexico's decision to stop her; the last thing he needed at this moment was a fight between the pair of them.

But, his arm didn't prevent her from speaking. Philippines said, "I actually think for myself. You can follow Spain like a lost sheep." Mexico cast a glance at her, trying to communicate that her speaking was not helping the situation. But, she ignored him and continued to glare at Puerto Rico.  
The other responded, bristling, "I love Alejandro. You couldn't possibly understand that."

An expression that Mexico couldn't quite identify passed over Philippines's face. But, whatever it was faded to anger. Philippines snapped, "No, you don't understand! You wanted to bring him back because you wanted your perfect life. What kind of love is that?" Puerto Rico looked beyond words, but continued to gasp wordlessly. Philippines' voice broke as she said, "I'm at his side. I always have been."

Mexico could hear the way her voice was shaking, and it seemed to need his attention more desperately than the desperation in Puerto Rico's eyes. He put his arm around her shoulder, which allowed him to comfort her and continue to restrain her. He felt her relax beneath his arm. But, this gesture triggered a final bitter realization in Puerto Rico.

She said, her voice turning hard and brittle, "I see." Her hand clenched on the ring that Mexico had given her, and her knuckles turned white. She added, giving Mexico one more scathing glare, "I can see that there is nothing left for me here." She turned and walked away, her train dragging behind her. Mexico let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. Then, he turned and left Puerto Rico completely behind.

Mexico decided that the best thing to do was to seek out Morelos. He didn't want to deal with the emotions that were attempting to overthrow his reason, and it was easier to turn his thoughts back to strategy. He hoped that this was the last time his past would break in suddenly. It had been easy to pretend that nothing of his life in the empire had even existed. But, facing Puerto Rico had brought something into glaring clarity. It was impossible to reject Spain's dominance without rejecting it all.

Mexico stopped in the middle of the hall and tried not to feel anything. But, he found himself running his finger over the place on his finger where the ring had been. There was a pale band where the sun had not touched his skin in centuries. It was profoundly painful to even look at it now. It was dawning on him that he had severed his connection with a woman who had been warm and comforting. But, she had given him an ultimatum and he had taken the only reasonable option. He could not have gone back, not now that he had come so far.

But, he couldn't completely block out the thoughts of what he had lost. She had been the only pure thing in his life, and she had just been excised. Mexico felt a lump of emotion in his throat, emotions that he had not dared express in front of her. He swallowed it down and attempted to center himself. He still had to fight a war, and nothing had really changed. But Mexico felt a slight shake that could not possibly be a sob pass over his body. This was the only emotion he could allow himself to feel. If this made him fall apart, then Spain's plan would only succeed without Mexico caving to Puerto Rico's ultimatum. Mexico told himself as sternly as he could that he needed to be calm and continue on exactly as he had been.

Attempting to follow his own directive, Mexico straightened his back and walked towards where he knew his general was waiting for him. Morelos was sitting at a desk with the letter reporting the results of the battle laid out on the table in front of him. When he looked up at Mexico, the boy again noted how dark the circles under the man's eyes were. His face look wan and tired, and the look in his eyes made Mexico's already leaden heart sink still further.

Morelos said, his voice strained, "Why are you reading these letters before me? Surely you know I will tell you everything." Mexico sighed. He had known that this was coming when he had given the open letter to the soldier, but he was still not quite ready to explain the way he was drawn to Iturbide.  
He decided to sit in the chair opposite Morelos before responding, "I know, but I want to read them myself. There is something about Iturbide that intrigues me; he has countered our every move."

It was the most candidly he could answer, but it still felt like a betrayal to say it. He could see the impact his words made even as he spoke them. The man in front of him winced like he was in pain, and then he slowly responded, "He is not worth your admiration; he's a cruel man who sells himself to the highest bidder." Mexico nodded, simply to show that he understood, not that he agreed.

From what he could tell from the letters, there was a brilliance that he couldn't help but be fascinated with. He also knew that there was something drawing him to the man, and it meant that Iturbide would shape his future in some way. Morelos continued to speak, "He had the chance to choose you and he chose Spain because he could get more gold out of it. Now half of my commanders are hesitant to even take the field because he has imprisoned their wives and children."

He stopped and ran one hand through his hair, his hand shaking. Mexico wanted to feel stirred; he wanted to feel guilty for his own fascination. But, his heart was pounding through too many feelings and he couldn't find guilt among them. He looked directly at Morelos and held onto another emotion, "We all have to give up something, and they knew that. That was the risk they took in backing me."

The look of alarm he got in response immediately told Mexico that he said something wrong. But, the fact that he had just rejected the closest thing he had to a wife made him feel entirely unsympathetic. He leaned back and looked directly at his leader. He stood by what he said, there had always been risks. He knew what would happen if he fell back into Spain's hands and had accepted it since the beginning. But, the way that Morelos was looking at him was enough to make him at least feign sheepishness.

Slowly, Morelos said, "You can't ask men to give that much. They're scared, and I understand why. It is unethical to use women and children in war." Mexico sighed again and decided not to point out that he had already broken that rule. He remembered clearly that when he had started this war, every target had been a good one. But, this was a different time and he realized that. He would keep his thoughts on the hypocrisy to himself.

As he kept his silence, Morelos continued to speak, "I am glad that Iturbide didn't take the offer. I don't like the idea of that snake near you." At this statement, Mexico could no longer hold his own secret. He hadn't told Morelos about the effect Iturbide had on him because he didn't want to worry the man.  
But, those words jarred the secret lose and it quickly rose to the surface, "I'm not certain anyone will be able to prevent that, Jose."

The other went pale at the words. He replied, his voice ringing hollow, "What do you mean?" Mexico found himself too anxious to continue to sit calmly and discuss this. He hadn't meant to bring this up, but now that it was laid bare, he had to explain it. The truth was ugly and there was no way to make it easier. Mexico stood more out of nervous energy than any logical reason.

He began to pace, trying to assuage his nerves, as he explained, "There is a certain destiny that guides our fates as countries. Mostly, we are shadows in the world. Mortals are not meant to notice us unless they are important to us in some way." He didn't dare meet Morelos's eyes as he explained. It was easier to continue explaining, "And I know Iturbide is important."

He stopped and looked directly at Morelos and attempting to plead with him without words. Then he said slowly, placing emphasis on every word, "He sees me. He knows me. He knows me just like you did, Jose." He stopped talking and waited for an answer. But, the mortal was looking at him with an expression of disbelief. The silence was deafening while Mexico waited for the words. He didn't know what he expected Morelos to say, but he waited in nervous anticipation of it. He knew he might have told the man that he was doomed to failure, but he knew Morelos was not the kind of man who would blindly accept fate.

As though still attempting to come to grips with what he had been told, Morelos said, "How long have you been certain of this?" Mexico channeled his nervous energy into clenching and unclenching his hands. He would rather not answer the question, but he had to be honest now.  
He said, "For at least a couple months."  
The mortal immediately said, "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Mexico paused for a moment, contemplating whether he should lie or not. Certainly a lie would make him look better, but as he looked at the other's haggard face, he couldn't bring the lie to his lips. Instead, he looked down at his own feet and said, "I didn't want you to think there wasn't a point to fighting." He hoped that Morelos would understand, but he couldn't bring himself to meet the man's eyes. He didn't want to see that wonderful nationalistic fire extinguished.  
He heard the response without looking at the man, "I appreciate that, but this news doesn't change anything."

Mexico looked back up at him and realized that the man was standing now. As he spoke, Morelos walked around the desk and towards Mexico, "I respect what you feel, but I will not accept that this was all for not." He stopped right in front of Mexico and looked directly at him. The boy forced himself to look directly at his commander and the look in the mortal's eyes made him want to melt.

Morelos said slowly, "Do you still believe in me?" The sincerity in his eyes was enough to move Mexico, to remind him of the certainty he had felt when they had first met. The memory of that certainty was warm enough to sweep away the strange disease that Iturbide's eyes had planted in him. The doubt he had been holding evaporated, instead memories of many battles won flashed across his mind. How could he have put faith in a distant figure instead of the man in front of him looking at him with such devotion? Had Morelos not won both in word and deed?

Mexico responded and felt a smile creep across his face, "Of course I do." He saw his own expression mirrored on the mortal's face and he could count it as one of the very few smiles he had seen on the man's face recently.  
Morelos put his hand on his country's shoulder and said, "Then that's all I need. But, unfortunately, the politicians don't share your optimism."

He let out a sigh and the usual tired look returned to his face. Mexico wanted to say something to return the smile to the man's face. But, he didn't have the words to do it. Instead, he said, "What do you mean by that?" He felt a protective urge stir like a creature in his gut. He didn't want to see his general hurt by people who hid behind pen and paper instead of fighting.

Morelos looked back at his desk when he said, "The Congress wants to pass a draft constitution. They're only waiting for my approval."  
Mexico took a couple steps towards the desk and then said, "What do they want to change?"  
He could already guess at what the answer would be though. As he expected, Morelos said, "They want to have a strong president and a weak legislature."

Mexico shook his head. He had favored the idea of a strong leader, but he knew that allowing it would show weakness. He said, "Are you going to approve it? It isn't what you want."  
The mortal walked slowly back towards the desk and said, his voice seeming to deflate as he spoke, "I can't hope for better. I'm not winning, so they are panicking. There will be a chance to convince them otherwise eventually."

Mexico stopped talking and took a deep shaky breath. Both of his hands were balled into fists. America could see the emotions working in the way his veins pulsing beneath his skin. While Mexico seethed in silence, America stood up and walked over to his lover. He refrained from touching the other simply because he knew that Mexico was so engrossed in his memories that he was not paying attention to the other. America didn't particularly like the idea of being hit when he surprised Mexico.

But, he spoke in an attempt to break Mexico out of his memories, "Why did you stop?" Mexico turned and looked at the blonde. America desperately wanted to reach out and hug his lover, but he still wasn't certain that it would be a good idea. Mexico's face was set and there were ghosts of old emotion in it. But, he blinked slowly a couple times before apparently coming back to the present.

Then, he answered the question, "I envy your independence, Alfred." America didn't understand the response, but he was going to respond to it even if it confused him.  
He responded, "Why?"

He reached out and very lightly brushed his hand against Mexico's arm, hoping that the gesture would be clear. Mexico answered, "It must have been easy to only have to bond with a leader once. You only had to get that close once." America bit his lip as he attempted to come up with a response. He had no idea what was making Mexico so upset when the story seemed to be going well.

He reached down and softly took hold of his lover's hand. Then he said, "But you were on your way. You had a leader who cared for you, and he was doing everything he could. I had my own setbacks-" He was about to continue on about how hard his winter in Valley Forge had been.

But, Mexico stopped him while he pulled his hand out of the blonde's, "Yes, Jose was a great man. He was an idealist, but he was practical." He paused for only a moment to let his eyes burn through America. Then, he added, "And he did not deserve what Antonio did to him." America attempted to backpedal as the force of the words hit him.

He should have realized that this was not going to end well from the way that Mexico's hands were shaking. He cursed his own stupidity for not being able to read the atmosphere. He said, letting his confusion leak out, "I don't understand though. Everything was going well for you. How did Antonio get the upper hand?"  
Mexico let out a low growl and continued his story, "Well, Jose decided that he needed to convene the Congress again and decided to escort them himself."

The American took a step closer and attempted to put his hand on the other's shoulder, but Mexico pulled away. He seemed in need of comforting, but there was no way to do it if Mexico didn't cooperate. Mexico continued to talk, his emotions becoming clearer as he spoke, "I thought I was finally moving in the right direction, even if there some set backs. But, my life has a habit of bringing me back to Earth." His knuckles were turning white from the rage clenched in his hands. America wondered if it was smarter to back away slowly or to just throw caution to the wind and hug Mexico.

But, he didn't get the chance because Mexico started talking again, "I didn't think I was heading for a fall, even with the setbacks. I only saw him one more time before he died. I wish I'd known it was the last time; I would have said something else to him."  
__________________________________________________________

Mexico packed the last of his clothing and weapons, making himself ready to move again. He had already finished cleaning all of his weapons, although he doubted he would need them soon. He had his orders to go and wait for the arrival of the Congress. Yet, there was an anxiousness that he couldn't shake as he folded the last of his undershirts. There was something wrong that he couldn't put a name to, but it was looming in his mind anyway. He slammed the last of bit of white fabric into his saddle bag, Mexico gritted his teeth and attempted to ignore the feeling. There was nothing that could warrant this feeling; he was not losing his belief in his leaders. He was not going to allow himself to doubt, not now. Letting himself cave to doubt now would be handing himself over to Spain. So, he pushed down the stirring instinct in his gut.

His hands steady, he pulled the straps on his bag tight. Then, just to be certain, he glanced around the room. There was nothing that he was forgetting, so Mexico grabbed his sword slipped it into the scabbard at his waist. He grabbed his bags and walked out of the room. When he reached the town square, there was a very familiar bustling.

The army was splitting into two separate groups with one intended to escort Mexico and the other to accompany Morelos to keep the delegates safe. With Iturbide still making advances, it was necessary to make sure that everyone had an armed escort. Iturbide had shown no qualms about attacking whenever he had the best chance. Mexico could feel familiar eyes on him, but he ignored them.

He was used to being watched and protected, and at this point it was not even irritating. He no longer felt like he was being fussed over like a child. Perhaps it was because the surveillance was so subtle. Apart from Guerrero, very few of his body guards made themselves known to him. It was getting easier to ignore the protection when it amounted to nothing more than phantoms. It appeared that nothing was to be done now to prepare to leave, so Mexico turned his new horse towards the gates of the city. This new animal was far more docile than Mexico's tastes, but it would have to do for now. Mexico did miss the feeling of having pure, barely restrained power beneath him. But, there was a price to pay for war and he knew this was all over and independence was won, he would have the liberty to make everything exactly as he wanted it to be.

As he urged his horse forward, Mexico heard the usual sound of hooves as he was followed by his guards. As he reached the gate, there was the distinct sound of another horse galloping towards him. Mexico turned his head to see his general riding towards him. As Morelos stopped next to his country, he said, "I see you are ready to leave."  
Mexico responded with a slight smile, "I am. Although, it is cruel of me to leave you with politicians for so long."  
The other replied with a warm knowing look, "Better I deal with them than you. I don't think you have the patience to deal with them."

Mexico shifted his reins nervously in his hands as the unfamiliar horse stayed puzzlingly still beneath him. Then he said, "I don't understand why you let them criticize you when they don't fight like we do." He meant what he said completely; it didn't seem right to him to put this power in the hands of aristocrats.  
Morelos sighed and said, "You need both. Military power is not enough. You need their approval as much as you need mine."

Mexico tried to listen, but it was hard to let the words make an impact when it seemed that only military victory was truly swaying the tide of the war. He said, changing the subject slightly, "I will miss you speaking sense to me while you're away." Morelos smiled and looked directly at his country.  
His eyes were soft, even paternal. He said, "You have grown since we've met; you don't give yourself enough credit. But, Guerrero has my authority in my absence."

Mexico nodded,and didn't bother to ask why. He already knew that Guerrero was the man that they both most trusted. Instead, Mexico looked out to the horizon. Then, said softly, letting words that he never thought he would say with real sincerity, "I will miss you though."  
The mortal extended his hand and Mexico took it, and the mortal spoke, "I will see you in a couple weeks. Don't do anything to get yourself in trouble." Mexico nodded and watched as Morelos rode away. Then, he turned his own horse and rode off.  
____________________________________________________

Mexico laid his cards down on the table, confident that he had a winning hand. Guerrero looked at his hand and sighed, "Why do I bother playing cards with you when I know I'm going to lose?"  
Mexico smiled and responded, "I do have a hundred years of practice on you."

The mortal put down his own cards, revealing that he had no valuable cards. He looked at Mexico and said, "Well, you can't possibly be enjoying this."  
The country smirked, "I do enjoy winning actually."  
The mortal laughed while surreptitiously organizing the cards, "I suppose you would. But there must be some other way I can entertain you."

He managed to get the deck back into order. Mexico took this as a subtle sign that the card games were over. This was dull though, being stuck inside waiting for decisions to be made. Because Guerrero was acting commander now, it was necessary that he not vanish into the encampment to practice swordplay.  
Mexico stayed silent, so the other asked, "Do you want to play chess?"

Mexico thought about it for a moment. He hadn't played chess with anyone for quite a while, and it could be a nice change to play it again. So, he said with the same slight smirk, "Just know that I'm going to win at that too." It was little more than playful boasting and the grin the mortal returned showed that he understood. Mexico found himself warmed by this, this fraternity. But, as he watched Guerrero lay out the chess pieces, a different feeling stirred in him.

It reminded him of different nights with someone else. He remembered Spain's exquisite gilded chess set and the long strategical standoffs that could last deep into the night. The memories were uninvited and uncomfortably pleasant. Mexico didn't want to remember those nights and Spain's lighthearted smile. To clear his mind, he stood up and walked over to the window. It would be easier to push away memories of Spain looking out over the forces he had mustered to drive the man out of his country.

But, as Mexico walked away, Guerrero said, "Are you alright?" Mexico considered for a moment if he should lie, but he decided that he had nothing to hide.  
Still looking out the window, he said, "I was just thinking about Antonio. I shouldn't think about him." He left off the qualifying words: I shouldn't think about him like this.  
The other responded, apparently trying to find the right words, "But why shouldn't you think about him? He is your enemy."

Before Mexico could come up with a response, he noticed a lone figure on a horse riding into the city. The man was wearing the colors of insurgency, but even from this distance it was clear that he was battered. The sight sent a cold bolt straight through Mexico. He had seen this before. But this rider could not carry the same news. This could not be happening, not again. All of the emotions tasted of bile in the back of his throat. His heart began to race, presuming the conclusion that Mexico was trying so hard to deny. When he spoke, his vocal chords let out a wooden imitation of his voice, "There's a messenger."

In a strange daze, Mexico watched as Guerrero first looked out the window to confirm the statement and then turned to go talk to the man. Still not entirely conscious of what he was doing, Mexico followed the mortal. He didn't want to hear the news, but his feet carried him towards it anyway in the hope that it would be anything other than what he dreaded. It seemed that in only moments, they were both standing in front of the messenger. Mexico half expected to see a bullet hole in the shoulder of this ghost, this hateful specter. The face could have been the same as it uttered the words that were an echo of the past, "It was an ambush."

The rest of the words didn't matter, they did nothing to change what Mexico knew was coming. He knew the words; he had heard them before. He had lost again, lost a great man, lost a great leader. He could hear his own reactions echoed in the way that Guerrero angrily demanded that something, anything else be true. But, this time it was not denial or sadness that permeated Mexico's being. He had been through those feelings before.

A feeling crystalized in him, hard and unyielding. Having heard enough, he turned and walked straight through the crowd that had gathered around, ignoring the voice that called his name. He responded only that he needed a moment alone. It was as good of an excuse as any to pull away from the maddening throngs, where mortals who could not understand his pain would try to console. He did not want a hand on his shoulder or a sympathetic ear to listen and tell him everything would be alright. He walked until he reached the building he had been seeking.

As soon as he entered the church, he pulled the heavy wooden door closed behind him. It was too late in the day for anyone to be here to see him. Mexico took a deep breath before letting out the scream that had been building in his lungs since he had seen the rider, since he had realized what it meant. It was wordless, pure agony put into a sound that reverberated off the walls and filled the space. It was not sadness or numbness; it was agony and rage. Every emotion expressed itself in the way Mexico's voice rose stronger and stronger and finally broke.

It was not that the emotions were exhausted. His vocal chords could not longer maintain the outpouring, so they cut it short. Not yet done, Mexico let the anger that was boiling in his blood. He focused his eyes on the altar and let out the words, "Why do you do this to me? Why am I doomed to this failure?" He wasn't certain who he was hurling the words at the Christian God Spain had imposed on him so long ago, the Gods his mother had believed in, or his own blurred reflection in the gold of the altar. He didn't care. Whoever had bestowed this fate on him deserved his wrath.

He continued yelling, no longer caring if anyone heard him, "Why do you take everyone I care about? Why do they all have to die?" The rage was beginning to exhaust itself, drowning in the inevitable truth and the grief that came with it. There was nothing this rage could do, even if the words meant something. By degrees, Mexico's voice lost its strength and became cracked and broken. Still, he spoke, "Has Antonio won so much goodwill with his self righteous hypocrisy that I'm doomed to fail?"

His voice completely gave out as he said, "Why am I always alone?" Finally exhausted, he let himself to sit in the front of the pews. But, he could still feel the burning in his blood, continuing to cause him Spain. It was urging him to fight, to continue to yell until the world heard him. Fate was playing a cruel joke on him, forcing him to relive the same pain repeatedly until he learned. He slammed his fist against the wood of the pew.

He knew why Iturbide had been so eager to take the chance to ambush Morelos. Even sitting here now, Mexico could feel the guilt setting in. He had gambled, played the bait, and now he had lost everything. It had been the promise of him that had driven Iturbide to make this daring move. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. The eyes of the mosaic looking through him, seeing every mistake he had made. Mexico felt sobs start to shake him now that the anger had cooled. There was no way to suppress these feelings so, he put his head in his hands and let the tears take him.


	49. Chapter 49

America threw all caution to the wind and hugged his lover. He knew that Mexico wasn't expecting it, but he didn't care. He felt the other attempt to pull away, but he kept his hold tight. He wanted to convey how very sorry he felt. Mexico's story was tearing at his bleeding heart. He said, trying to clarify his actions, "It's so sad. I can't take it!"

Tears escaped his eyes and began to roll down his cheeks. He didn't know what to expect from Mexico, but he was still surprised when he felt the soft touch on the top of his head, the other's comforting hand in his hair. He had half expected to be told off. Mexico finally spoke, "It's just history now, Al. I survived it and don't you want to hear about how I triumphed?" America loosened his hug only slightly, and from the short sigh he got in response he could tell that Mexico was slightly irritated with his childish behavior. But, Mexico's voice was exceptionally level when he said, "Al, you can let me go now."

America put his chin on the other's shoulder and said softly, "But I love you and this story is so sad."  
The Mexican sighed again and said, "That's easy for you to say. I lived it." Deciding that it was worthwhile to let go just to hear the rest of the story, America slowly released his hold.  
But, he did say, "How could it get better from there? You'd lost your leader."

Mexico turned his head to look directly at America and said, "Al, you're being an idiot." It was an insult, but the softness in his voice made it clear that it wasn't serious. This was all the more apparent when Mexico continued, "You know I'm here now, so you know I succeeded in time. Yes, I lost Jose, but Antonio made his own mistake."  
America's curiosity was piqued and he immediately said, "What did he do?"

A small smirk played at the corner of Mexico's mouth, as though the answer had been some machination of his own. He said, "He stripped Iturbide of his rank and position." America was genuinely shocked after listening to all the accounts of the man's victory. No nation with experience in combat would willingly give up a commander with so many victories on his record, and Spain was nothing if not experienced in combat.

He immediately voiced his confusion, "But why would anyway do that? Why would Spain do that?" Mexico's usual smirk returned as he explained, "The official reason was that Augustine was abusing his position to accumulate wealth. If you ask me, that was little more than an excuse. Tony's green-eyed monster got the better of him; he couldn't have liked the way Augustin talked about me."

America responded, eager to get more information, "How do you know what he said about you?" It didn't make any sense that Mexico would know how an enemy commander reported to another country.  
Mexico smirked and said, "I know how he talked to me, and I can imagine how much more uninhibited he was without me present. He was a man who couldn't help but be provocative, even when he didn't intend to be."

America smiled at the description and said, "Like you, huh? I love that about you."  
He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Mexico's shoulder. The other turned with a slight smirk, "You love it until your politicians start talking about me. Then you wish I was different."

America shook his head. He knew what his lover was talking about and it always made him cringe slightly. He said, trying to deny it, "I don't want you to change. I like you just the way you are." Mexico turned completely around and, without any prompting, pressed his lips against the American's. America immediately let his lips part and mold to the other's. He felt Mexico's tongue against the roof of his mouth and it made his heart leap. He was legitimately disappointed when Mexico pulled away, but the smile on his face was comforting.

America spoke, "Why did you do that?"  
Mexico responded, "Do I need to justify my affection to you?" He leaned in and kissed the blonde softly again. America wasn't complaining, but he still wanted a reason. It seemed odd to get affection in the middle of such a sad story. The Mexican pulled away again and said, "You were being adorable. You were so concerned about me. I wanted you to stop pouting."

America smiled and replied, "You're right. I should have more faith in you." Mexico looked at him for a moment and a strange look passed over his face. It took America a moment to realize it was uncertainty.  
Then Mexico clarified it, "You know, I was thinking of leaving this part out. But, I've been honest with you and I shouldn't stop now." He paused for a moment and then fixed his eyes on America, "You know that moments of doubt come with war. I had my own."  
____________________________________________________________________________

Mexico was packing again, but this time it was not to move on with a grand army. That was the past now and he had to move on now. He tucked his sword into his belt, knowing perfectly well that this may be the last time he put this here. Spain would never allow him to have a sword again, or any weapon for that matter. He paused for a moment when he reached for his guns. The memory of how Guerrero had used these as a reason to talk to him flashed across his mind. They were beautiful guns and they would be of little use to him from here on out. They would be better served staying here with Guerrero, who would appreciate them the most. He left them where they were on the table, assuming that the mortal would find them once he was gone.

He wasn't completely certain where he was going anyway. He didn't have a plan anymore, not like he had since he had slipped out of the capital to join the rebellion. His only thought was to go North, not necessarily straight to Spain but to find some peace. If he could make it all the way to the Northern deserts, he was really just seeking solitude. Secluding himself had always given him real solace. But, there was a shudder just under his skin, waiting for the sight of Spain to be released. He didn't know what would happen when they were reunited, but he would take it. He had made this choice, so he wasn't going to turn back. He had made too many mistakes to have independence; that much was clear now.

He had written a letter with instructions as to what was to be done with the Philippines once he was gone. She would not like it, but it would keep her far enough away from the fallout. Once he finished placing his weapons in the proper places, he took the letter, which was folded and sealed and placed it on the table next to the pistols. Guerrero would find it, and hopefully follow it to the letter.

Then, Mexico turned one last time and left the room. He walked as quietly as he could to the stables. The dawn was only beginning to break over the horizon, so it should be easy to sneak out of town. Once he was in the stables, he unhitched his new horse and began to make his way out. Each step felt heavy, but he took them all the same. The decision was made and he had to follow through with it. And yet, indescribable bitterness rose in his throat as he looked back at the dark window of the general's chambers, which Guerrero was now inhabiting. He half wished that a light would appear, that the curtain would be thrown back, and he would be forced to meet those eyes. Even his deep despair would not hold under Guerrero's judgmental eyes. But he reminded himself that the man was part of the reason he was leaving. Mexico couldn't take the thought of losing another leader, especially not now that the one he cherished most was the next in line. He wouldn't stand by as Spain took this man away from him too. He had to remember that he was protecting Guerrero by leaving.

He turned and continued to walk. There could be no weakness, no hesitation. Mexico continued, not allowing himself to look back. When he got to the very edge of the city, he took one last deep breath and braced himself. But a voice from directly behind him, "Where are you going?"

The sound of that voice was enough to send a chill down his spine. Mexico turned to face Guerrero, who had apparently been following him. He turned slowly, letting go of the reigns of the horse. The submissive creature would not flea whatever provocation. Slowly, Mexico formed the words, still averting his eyes from the other's face, "I'm leaving." It was flat and measured and Mexico could recognize the intonation he had used to use on Spain.

But, it had no effect on the mortal, who took a small step forward and repeated, "And where are you going?"  
Mexico took a small step backwards, but he answered anyway, "I don't know yet, but I'm going North." He was not able to speak with his usual sweeping confidence, and not just because the tears of the past couple days had broken his voice. The truth was that all that bravado was gone, completely extinguished by his own grief.  
The mortal responded with his eyes fixed on Mexico, his own seeming to gain strength as Mexico's failed, "North? Where the Spanish presence is the strongest?"

Mexico only nodded in response. He knew what he was saying, but he couldn't quite put it into words. He could feel Guerrero's eyes on him, and they were bringing the taste of tears into his mouth again. The other responded sharply, "I won't allow that. I won't let you turn back."  
Finally, Mexico found his voice again and he snapped back, "It isn't your choice! I will do what I must."

He saw a shadow pass over the other's face. He could see the small changes in the mortal's demenor. A wave of tension seemed to pass over him. He then said, "I will not let you. I will not let you fall back into the hands of a man who treats you like a glorified concubine." He probably meant the comparison metaphorically, but the words rang too close to the truth and they pained Mexico. He could feel them resonating in the core of his being. The man had finally given articulation to the reality that had been Mexico's life as a colony.

Mexico did not want to fight, with every fiber of his being he did not, but he had chosen this path. If he had to lash out at Guerrero verbally to clear his path, he would. It was for the man's own protection. He swallowed whatever feelings he had and used his old, flat voice that let no hint of his emotions through, "Don't you see that there's nothing left? We have lost!"

The black hopelessness that had plagued Mexico for days came out in the last sentence, coating his words and making them heavy. This was the truth that he had failed to deny to himself. With Morelos gone, there was no leadership. There was little left of the army and the upper class support for the independence would certainly crumble.

Guerrero did not back down in the face of his country's bluntness. Instead, he put his hand on the pommel of his sword. It was a telling gesture, and yet there was a crack in his voice as he said, "If that is what you really believe, then you will have to cut me down to leave." With that, he drew his sword. His hand was curiously steady, ready to wield the sword with precision. But, Mexico would not draw. He did not want to strike down Guerrero. Not this man, not now.

He continued to speak, "You know I can beat you. Why would you want to do this? Let me go, go back to a normal life." The mortal's eyes were getting harder to meet as emotion filled them. Beneath the determination there was something agonizing.  
The mortal said, a quiver in the words, "There is nothing for me but this. I don't want a different life. I would rather die by your hand than take a pardon like a coward."

He fixed his eyes on Mexico. There was something staggering about him; it was clear that every muscle in his body was ready to fight. Mexico recognized this devotion, but he had never seen it so clearly. He knew that Guerrero cared for him, but until this moment it hadn't been clear how fully. There was no choice; he had to fight. But, when he won he would do nothing to hurt the mortal. He would simply leave; it would be easier that way.

Finally, Mexico decided that he had no choice but to draw himself. He pulled both swords from his scabbards. He made one last attempt to reason with the man, "I am asking one last time: Step aside and let me go before I have to hurt you."  
Guerrero responded immediately, "I will not." Mexico squared his stance and raised his blades, "So be it."

Mexico knew that he would have to make the first move; he was the one who wanted to leave. He lunged forward, attempting to do minimal damage but still cement his victory. From the flash in the other's eyes, Mexico knew that the parry was coming. And yet, the force behind the repulsion surprised him. Guerrero immediately took the counter attack, apparently aiming to disarm his country.

Mexico took a step sideways and parried the other's attack. But, the man seemed to expect it. He grabbed the other's shoulder and swung the man around. Mexico was taken aback by the sudden move; he had never seen Guerrero be this aggressive when they were training. When he was released, Mexico was dazed. He staggered backwards and fixed his eyes on his champion. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself again that he was doing this to protect the man, to protect everyone close to him that Spain would kill to get to him.

He shook off the blow and readied himself to strike again. He took two quick steps forward and swung again, but this was met by another parry. Not willing to give up, he stepped to the other side and blocked the counterstrike he knew was coming. With one blade, he blocked, while he attempted to strike again. But, as he moved both of his hands at once, Guerrero recognized the move. He was aware of the fact that he had one sword, which would not allow him to block. Instead, he dodged to the side, forcing Mexico to miss.

The move had been a gamble, but not one that Mexico was incapable of fixing. He retreated a few steps, but the mortal immediately rushed him. Mexico braced himself for the barrage of strikes he was expecting.

When Guerrero feigning a quick slash, Mexico reacted. He felt his legs go out from and before he was completely aware of what was happening, he felt his back slam into the ground. He realized what must have happened. Guerrero had known that moving to block the feint would require Mexico to unbalance himself and had taken advantage of the moment to sweep the feet out from under him. The combined forces had knocked him onto his back. Before Mexico had time to get back to his feet, the other was on top of him, and focusing on disarming him.

The sword had been knocked out of his left hand by the impact with the ground, but his right hand was still clutching its blade. It was to this hand that the mortal turned his attention. Mexico could feel the other's fingers shaking as they pried his own off the handle of the sword. He could have fought, but as he looked up Mexico realized what the expression on the other's face was. Beneath the facade of disciple, there were two competing feelings. One was a kind of regret that arose from what he was currently doing. But, there was another sadness, a deeper one. It was this that lanced straight through the country's heart; he hadn't realized how deeply what he was doing was hurting Guerrero. He saw his own heart break in the other's eyes. He stopped struggling and let his hand fall open. If Guerrero wanted his sword, then he could have it.

But, the gesture did not go unnoticed. The mortal spoke, the shadow of a smile passed over his face. But, then his face fell again, like he couldn't trust this moment. He took the sword in complete dutiful silence and only spoke when he had it firmly in hand, "Thank you. Where are your guns?"  
Mexico sighed and said, "I don't have them on me."

He was being honest, but the words didn't seem to make an impact. Guerrero shook his head and immediately turned his eyes to Mexico's midriff, where his guns were usually tucked into his belt. Slowly, the realization dawned upon him as he looked for the familiar pistols. He looked back at Mexico and said, "Why would you leave them behind? The way used used them, it was like they were part of you."  
Mexico attempted to find the words to explain perfectly what he had already laid out in a letter he had spent hours writing. Finally he decided to simply say, "I didn't want Antonio to have them. It seemed better to leave them to you."

The unspoken implications of the last sentence hung in the air, and Mexico wished he could take the words back. He didn't want to care the way he did, then it wouldn't hurt to have the other looking at him like that. Guerrero took deep breath, apparently attempting to steady himself, before he said, "Why do you think I would want your weapons instead of you?"  
Before Mexico could stop the words or make them more tactful, the emotion spilled out, "Because you would be alive!"

His already fragile voice broke on the words. He cursed how hysteric the words sounded, but he couldn't get his strained vocal chords to produce his usual deep, resonant confidence. He didn't know how the other would interpret the word, but he hoped he would understand. He watched with trepidation as Guerrero recoiled. He only said, "What?"

Mexico took in a deep breath in through his nose as he tried to center himself. There was only one thing to do and that was to explain. He was becoming uncomfortably aware of the fact that the mortal was straddling him. It had originally been to restrain him, but now it wasn't necessary. This was physically as close as they had ever been, and there was something mildly unnerving about it, something unspoken. Mexico wouldn't dare voice it; doing so would only make it more painful to leave. But, with the mortal so resolutely restraining him, it was unlikely he would be going anywhere any time soon.

Instead, he focused on explaining what he meant, what had become painfully clear to him in the past couple days. He said, trying to remain as rational as possible, "Antonio has made it perfectly clear that he is determined to kill anyone who gets close to me. Now you are the only one left. If I go back to Antonio, I can convince him to give you a pardon" The mortal's face darkened even farther.  
When he spoke, it was in a voice of restrained rage, "Do you really think my life is so important to me that I will trade our dream for it? I do not care if I die for you."

Mexico knew that this would be the answer, and it was that unwavering loyalty that he did not want. He did not deserve this from anyone in his life. He snapped back, rare emotion breaking into his voice, "I care! I cannot watch you die." The thought had been haunting since news had come of Morelos. How long would it take Spain to find the last of the army? Once he had them, he would not be blind to the feelings between Mexico and Guerrero, and his jealously would know no bounds. Mexico had no doubt he would be forced to watch the execution as punishment for his emotional infidelity. The thought was impossible to stomach, to even consider. He could not bear that, so it was better he left now to protect this man, who had been loyal beyond all bounds of pragmatism and reason. This man was truly a patriot.

Mexico sighed and reached up, his hands free now that they were disarmed. He couldn't help the feeling that was now rising in him, it needed to be voiced. He laid his hand gently on the other's shoulder as he spoke, "You have been more loyal to me than I deserve. I enjoy your company more than anyone else's. But, it is time for you to let me go. I cannot protect you. I've never been able to protect anyone." The faces flashed across his mind one at a time: his mother, Hidalgo, Allende, Morelos. Every single one of them dead now, dead for loyalty to him. A revolting feeling of impotence washed over him. For all his bravado, all his prowess, he had never been able to change anything.

He looked up at Guerrero and saw a strangely tender look on the man's face. He could not explain the look, not after what he had said. He expected the other to speak again, but when Guerrero finally did, it was not the strong affirmation he expected. The man put his hand to Mexico's face, his touch tender, and he said, "Mi Patria, my beautiful, noble Patria."

He seemed to be lost for a moment, but his eyes communicated far more. Mexico's heart skipped several beats. Dios mios, had anyone ever looked at him with that pure, unadulterated patriotism? That sort of love? This feeling broadsided him, taking the breath out of his lungs like the impact with the ground had not. How could he run from this?

The mortal spoke in a strained, impassioned voice, "I tell you this now: If Spain wants to take you back, he will have to step over my corpse to do it. No matter what you say, I will stand between him and you until my last breath. I can't just let you turn your back on me now." Mexico took a deep breath, swallowing the thickness in his throat. He could swear it tasted like tears, but not like the ones that he had been shedding recently. These were proud.  
He said, choosing the simplest words to express the most complicated of feelings, "You can get off of me. I'm not going anywhere."

He spoke the bare minimum to stop the words he wanted to utter. He couldn't say how deeply he felt their bond, how profound it was. But, he was certain that he did not need to, it was clear to both of them. Slowly, the mortal nodded, understanding the meaning. He stood up and offered his hand to Mexico. The country took it immediately. He still had his misgivings, but that look had pulled him back, reminded him what he was fighting for. He would not leave, he couldn't. The doubt was still present, but it was hard to still contemplate leaving. Mexico's connections with mortals meant something, and he had to believe that this one was truly special and completely different than any of the others.

Mexico slowly got to his feet with the other's help. Guerrero's hand was firm on his own, there was something protective in how tightly he was holding on. Attempting to regain some composure, Mexico pulled his hand away and made an attempt to dust himself off. He realized that it was, in some part, a way to avoid speaking for a couple minutes. But, he didn't have to fill the silence. Guerrero spoke again, "This is my fault for leaving you alone for so long. After what happened, I should have spoken to you."

He stopped for a moment, as though attempting to collect his thoughts. Mexico understood though. He had locked himself away with his own misery for days since the messenger had come. He hadn't talked to anyone about what he had been feeling. It was the same thing he had done during his colonial years; finding seclusion and grappling with his feelings on his own. And yet, that had brought him to this conclusion. The mortal finally found the words he was searching for, "We should go back to my quarters. There are things we need to talk about."

Mexico only nodded. He was not certain what the other wanted to say to him, but if the looks that passed between them were any indication it would be another emotional conversation. There was a tense silence between them as they walked back, but neither of them dared break it.

Only once they reached the dimly lit room did Guerrero turn back to him and say, "You should sit." Mexico could quip in response, but no words were coming to mind. His wit was failing him, so he did as he was told. The room was large, and it was easy to find a large couch to sink into. Mexico did so, but maintained the attempt at dignity. He wanted to speak, but he was truly at a loss for words. He let the other turn silently and open a cabinet, walk around busying himself with something. Guerrero finally turned back to Mexico and handed him a glass of red wine.

It was early in the morning, and it seemed far too early to start drinking. Mexico commented on this, "Isn't it a little early for wine?" He took the glass regardless, but did not yet take a drink. He ran a finger absentmindedly around the rim of the glass as he waited for a response. The mortal responded with what looked like an attempt at a smile that failed, "Usually, yes. But I think you need a glass now. Your voice sounds strained, and I think this will help."

He then sat down and fixed his gaze directly on Mexico. As the country took a drink of the wine, he really looked at his new general. The young man he had met only a few years ago was gone. The man in front of him looked a decade older and more mature. His eyes showed a new awareness. He wasn't a foot soldier anymore, he could see that he was a general. But, there was something else about him. He looked exhausted, like he had not slept in days. There were dark circles under his eyes and the vivacity that usually colored his complexion was gone. Mexico wondered for a moment if he was the only one that had been crying, there was a redness to the other's eyes that suggested otherwise. Perhaps, they had both been hiding from each other.

Slowly, Mexico said, "I'm sorry for trying to leave. I was doing it to protect you." He didn't need to elaborate, he had already said enough.  
But the other shook his head, "I knew you would be hurt. I knew I should have spoken to you. But-" He stopped for a moment to collect himself and closed his eyes before looking back at Mexico and saying, "I was scared too. I still am. I never imagined I would be here, that I would be anything but a simple soldier. When the news came, I couldn't believe that I was the next in the chain of command."

The words were deeply emotional, but clearly honest. Mexico could hear the anxiety in them, and he understood why. He responded, "This isn't where I intended to be either. I thought I would be free by now." He added, his anger coming out in his weakened voice, "I was so naive." He felt the touch of Guerrero's hand against his own. He looked down to see that the man's hand was once again holding tightly onto his own, as though trying to comfort him. A feeling of unfamiliar compassion rose in his throat. There was a stinging in his eyes yet again.  
Guerrero spoke again, "Do you still want to be free?"

It was a direct question and an honest one. Mexico could answer it quickly. He knew the answer, even if the situation had gotten even more complicated. He said, "Of course I do." Even as the words left his mouth, Mexico cringed. He knew how improbable that prospect was now; most of his army was gone as was most of his support. This was not like losing Hidalgo, this would be much harder to recover from.  
But, the other sounded confident when he said, "Then let me fight to my last breath to make you free."  
Mexico sighed and responded, taking another drink of wine before he did so, "But can we still win this war? Without Jose, we hardly have an army anymore."

He saw a flicker of doubt pass over the mortal's face, but felt the hand tighten on his. The doubt was quickly replaced with confidence. Guerrero's voice was strong when he responded, "That is true, but I know how to fight with what we have. I know this land better than any creole or Spaniard." The strength in him was compelling, compelling enough to dispel some of Mexico's doubt. He had no tangible, logical reason to believe that independence was still possible, but he couldn't deny that he felt it. The pure patriotism and charisma was stirring him. It could still be done, even with the change in circumstances.

Mexico felt himself smile for the first time in days and his wit finally returned to him. He said, "Just you and Iturbide warring over me. I am a bit flattered." A genuine smile appeared on the mortal's face. Mexico didn't have to wonder why for long.  
The man responded, "I was going to tell you later, but I got a letter last night. Iturbide has been stripped of all position."

Mexico felt his eyebrow raise at this news. He had not expected this at all; he had thought that the man was important because he would end the insurgency. But now, he felt something completely different. He pulled his hand away from his general and slowly stood up. He walked absentmindedly, trying to compose his thoughts. He knew that Iturbide was important. He had felt it in his chest, it had struck him so forcefully. But now the man had been removed from combat.

Maybe his purpose was somewhere else. Regardless, he was still important and now not tied to the monarchist cause. A feeling of burgeoning triumph blossomed in his chest. This could be of use. He wasn't completely sure how yet, but he was certain that this could be of use. Guerrero broke him from his thoughts, "What are you thinking?"

Mexico couldn't be completely honest with his answer, but he could come close, "I didn't expect this, but I think it improves our chances." He had been just as vague with Morelos, but this time he really was not certain.  
Mexico waited for the response. It came quickly, and with confidence, "Yes, I think so as well. He was ruthless, but effective and I would rather not have him hunting me."

Mexico nodded again in agreement, but his mind was still turning the fact over in his mind. Spain had set this man with the task of finding him personally, so it was possible that failure had brought this about. Mexico was still far away from Spain and still in open rebellion, so Iturbide had failed in that respect. Or was it possible that Spain was suspecting, as Mexico was, that the man's destiny lay elsewhere? It did not matter for now. If Iturbide was still destined to be instrumental, and Mexico suspected he was, then he would reemerge in time. For now, he had a general who had protected him from the day they had met. If anyone deserved his absolute trust, it was Guerrero.

For now, that trust would suffice. Mexico walked back to the couch and sat down again. He said, a smile on his lips, "So, Vicente, tell me what our plan is."  
The other smiled and said, "Only if you promise never to scare me like that again." Mexico reached out and put his hand on the mortal's, reciprocating the gesture from earlier.  
And he said, "I am going to stay with you."


	50. Chapter 50

The next few weeks were full of a tense waiting. There were parts of the army still scattered around the South, holding down areas that were still loyal. But, the news of Morelos's capture was spreading slowly. Strangely, since the initial news of his capture there had been nothing, unlike with Hidalgo. Mexico could only imagine that Spain was keeping it all under wraps because of how hugely popular Morelos was. It was hard to know if there would even be a letter when he was executed.

There was no question of whether there would be an execution; Spain had made it perfectly clear what he intended to do. He had said it plainly in his letter, and Mexico had ignored the warning. There was a distant feeling of guilt that haunted Mexico's mind. He could have given himself up and averted all of this.

Mexico hated the feeling of waiting yet again, but he knew it was important now to figure out what remained of Morelos's army. Only once they knew that could they move forward. Still, Mexico felt like this was a dangerous prospect. If anyone told Spain where they were, it would all be over. There was very little room for error now. Mexico slept uneasily, knowing that he could soon be back in Spain's hands.

He had noticed that every time he chose to wander the halls early in the morning, he could find comfort in the presence of guards, who were always conspicuous. Mexico couldn't help but think that Guerrero wanted him to be very aware of how secure they were. But, he was also aware that if he wanted to run again, it would be nearly impossible. It was a pragmatic move, and Mexico appreciated it.

He was walking the halls again, sleep eluding him. His mind was slipping back to the place that it always frequented. He couldn't help but wonder what his colonizer was doing now. It was inexorable that he would think of Spain. It seemed odd how often this seemed to happen. For so many years, Mexico had been privy to Spain's thoughts and anxieties. Now, he had no idea what his colonizer was thinking or doing. Was Spain pacing the halls in Mexico city too? Did he lose sleep over the idea that he may never have his empire back?

Mexico couldn't be certain; he hadn't heard from the rest of the empire in years. He did not know if Peru or any of the others were having more success in their bids for freedom than he was. Was he last of the empire left? Or had everyone else been soundly crushed? Surely Spain felt some triumph in what he had accomplished. He was probably feeling as though he'd won.

Mexico gritted his teeth at the thought that Spain even had some illusion of triumph. He was not defeated yet, and Spain should know him well enough to know that he wouldn't give up without a fight. Mexico could see the sun rising outside the windows, signaling the start of yet another day. This was getting frustratingly monotonous wandering the halls and wondering what was to come. Although he knew what it may cost, there was a part of his mind that craved battle. It would center him again. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, but he didn't react to them. It was just another of his guards, but the sound drew him out of his thoughts.

It would not due to let Spain weigh on him. After all, this war was not about Spain anymore; it was about independence. He decided that he might as well put his restless energy to work. If letters had come in the night, he could sort through them. His steps were echoed behind him by his usual shadow. Mexico reached the door to the general's quarters and noticed that there was a faint light beneath the door. No one should be awake at this hour. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

There was a single candle burning itself into a puddle of wax on the table and there was a familiar form bent over it. Guerrero was not wearing his usual uniform, instead he was dressed in only his undershirt with a jacket thrown carelessly over it. It looked like he had been roused in the middle of night. He didn't seem to notice when Mexico opened the door. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading. For a moment, Mexico second guessed his urge to make his presence known. He couldn't clearly see the general's face so couldn't guess at the emotions accompanying this state of undress.

But, he gathered himself and said, "Vicente, why are you awake at this hour?" The mortal looked up and there was an unnerved look in his eyes. His response was quick, clipped, "I wasn't expecting you." He glanced back at the letter before immediately launching into an explanation, "I just received a letter. I was intrigued so I couldn't wait until morning to read it."  
Mexico cut in, "From whom?"

He hadn't heard his general this frantic since his ill-conceived attempt to leave. He could only guess at the author of the letter that had so upset Guerrero. The mortal glanced at the letter one more time, the disdain clear in his face. Then he looked directly at Mexico and said, "It's from your colonizer. Spain deigned to write to me." Mexico gasped; he couldn't disguise his shock. He hadn't expected that Spain would take this step. It proved something throughly disconcerting. Spain knew where they were and who was in charge. Mexico's heart skipped an uncomfortable beat as he realized what this meant: Antonio knew that Guerrero was his next target.

A question clung to the tip of his tongue. It was better to ask it than to be left in suspense and imagine what Spain had said. Antonio was jealous and his venomous tongue could turn on anyone. He said, "I'm sorry you had to read that. What did he say to you?" The candle on the table sputtered slightly in the puddle of wax, but it remained alight.

Mexico immediately regretted asking when he saw a spasm of pain cross the other's face. There was still a strange distance in his voice as he said, "He offered me a pardon if I surrendered and gave you up." The artifice in his voice was clear. Mexico had listened to careful words enough to know that this was not the whole truth. He took a few inconspicuous steps toward where the poisonous document was laying, now the unwelcome guest in the room. If the man was not willing to give him the truth, he would read the letter himself. He dreaded what it said, but he needed to know.

Mexico also spoke, his own voice softened to hide his own suspicion, "What else did he say? Antonio would not be that civil."  
Again, the response came quickly. But, this time genuine anger slipped through, "How well you know him."  
Before Mexico could muster another response, the mortal stormed over and picked the letter up again. Without any introduction, he read from the letter, "'I commend you for your courage, but your cause is lost. I am giving you a chance to keep your life, for what it is worth. You cannot possibly think that you can win with the scraps that you have left. Let me make this completely clear: You are no leader. You are not fit to be an officer or a general. You are a common soldier stepping into shoes that are too large for you. You are nothing more than a mulatto trying to change the role you were born to. Whatever you think you've learned in these past few years are a drop in the ocean of what I know. I have fought wars for centuries against men far better than you. Hidalgo and Morelos both fell to me, and they were more qualified than you will ever be. If you do not surrender, I will expose you as the pretender you are. Do you wish to share the fate of your mentor? Do not think I will let you live if you continue fighting. You have stolen someone very precious to me. I will not forgive you for that. I have known Alejandro since before you were born. No one knows him the way I do. If you care for him, you will return him to me before I have to chastise him on the battlefield. I gave Alejandro the chance to turn himself over with dignity, and Morelos is dead for it. Don't make the same mistake.'"

There was obviously more to the letter, but Guerrero stopped reading. He didn't need to say more. Mexico was lost for words. He had expected the venom, but to hear the words levied at a man he cared about was painful. It hurt more to know that Guerrero had been alone with the letter before. He didn't know what he could say to blunt the impact. He didn't need to though, rage had finally broken through all the control the general had, "What does he think I will do? Does he think that I will give you up because he demands it?" He balled up the letter and hurled it at a wall, "Fucking gachupin bastard! I am not his obedient lackey! I do not sell my loyalties."

For one of the first times, Mexico could see the unrefined core of the man. He was glad of it. Spain's arrogance deserved exactly this response. Mexico could feel his own temper rising. How dare Spain try to turn his leader, his friend, against him? Spain expected every man to bow to his prestige and money. But the end of the letter was the worst of it. How far in denial was Spain that he still believed he knew anything about Mexico? The country voiced his own rage in a strange calm, "Antonio knows nothing about me. He presumes to talk about me like I'm a misbehaving child."

He balled both of his hands into fists. After everything he'd done, after how far he had come, Spain still thought of him as a misguided child. The anger was galvanizing. Spain didn't know how much of a fool this proved him to be. Mexico took the couple steps to where the letter lay, crumpled on the floor and picked it up. The parchment was still stiff, and there was comfort in that. It still felt like holding a snake that was ready to sink its fangs into his hand. There was only one way to deal with something this dangerous.

He walked back to the table and placed the corner over the fire. He had done the same with another letter years ago. He didn't want to keep Spain's threats. Guerrero was watching him carefully, a tirade still on the tip of his tongue. Mexico intended his actions to speak for themselves, but he did say, "Fuck Antonio. He's blustering because he thinks he sees weakness. I say we give him a response. Let's stop waiting and strike at him."

He watched the other's face closely, judging the impact of his words. He saw the look of restrained rage replaced with a rueful smile. Guerrero responded, "I don't know how you ever lived with that man. If he thinks he can turn me into a loyalist, then I will show him my mettle." The candle finally sank into the puddle of wax and pile of ash, its fire going out. The darkness in the room was not complete; there was still moonlight filtering in through the windows.

Mexico could finally meet the other's eyes. They were burning with the determination Mexico had seen in very few men. He said, "I believe in you, Vicente. We're going to make Antonio hurt."  
The mortal nodded and his smile appeared even more genuine as he said, "You're stuck with me until I die. I would never betray you, whatever Spain thinks he can offer me." Mexico felt exhilaration rush over his skin. He had heard the words before, but he felt their impact more strongly than ever. Spoken now, like a confession just between them, in the dark of the night with no formality it sounded so real. The true, loyal, loving smile was just as charming as it had been the first time they met. That soldier was gone, but the feeling was still the same.

Mexico moved closer, not entirely sure what he intended to do. They had been alone together before, but this time it was different. The mortal man was willingly standing between him and Spain, entirely aware of what that meant. That was profoundly touching. There was no harm in responding, "You don't know what that means to me."

He took a step even closer, uncertain why he was seeking closer contact. Spain's possessiveness had made him realize how precious this bond was. He wasn't just a colony the way he had been to Spain. Guerrero closed the space between them and put one hand on Mexico's shoulder. He paused for a moment before he spoke and it almost sounded like he was holding something back, "You look tired. Get some sleep. We will be raiding loyalist positions hard and fast in the morning. You will need to be well rested."

* * *

"And then you invited him to bed with you, didn't you?", America cut in. Instead of voicing how uncalled for the accusation was, Mexico decided to play with his lover.

He said, "How would that help me get better rested?" It was a jab meant to make the American realize how ridiculous it sounded. The entire exercise of hearing accusations that he was sleeping with people and denying them was getting trying. He was beginning to wonder if America assumed he did that with everyone.

He waited for only a moment before adding, "Alfred, this is like me thinking you fucked George Washington. Does that sound right to you?" America shrugged, the look of disgust that Mexico intended did not appear.  
He had an irritatingly suggestive smile on his face as he said, "Well, my general was not an attractive young firebrand who constantly reminded me how committed he was to me. I would understand why you did if you did. He was clearly flirting with you."

Mexico rounded on his boyfriend, letting his anger slip through, "Why do you assume I crawl in bed with everyone? Vicente was my only friend for the most desperate years of my life. He was not a politician; he was a soldier and I adored him for that. He put me first and he's one of the few people who has ever done that. But let me be clear: I never thought of him in that way."

America's face fell, showing that the scorn had set in. He bit his lower lip like he was contemplating an apology. He finally said, "I'm sorry, again. I guess I've been listening to your ex too much."  
Mexico scoffed, "It's not just Cat, and we both know it. I've heard the rumors that I'm a slut since I was a colony. I thought you wouldn't blindly believe them."

The blonde grimaced again and nervously shifted his weight. His blue eyes were big and apologetic when he said, "Don't stop telling the story. I want to hear what happened next." A slight smile appeared as he said, "Your history is so much more interesting when you tell it."

Mexico's anger couldn't hold its fire with his lover looking at him like that. But, he was also not telling this story for America's benefit. It had begun that way, but now it was more for himself. It was cathartic to remember everything exactly as it was. It was comforting to remember who he had been, all of his weaknesses and mistakes, to remind himself how far he had come. If America still found it interesting, despite it having lasted into the early hours of the morning so far. He smiled and said, "Fine, Al. Only if you promise to stop accusing me of sleeping with every attractive person I interact with."

America nodded, which was enough of an agreement to continue. Mexico crossed his arms and continued, "Well, Tony made a mistake that night. He brought Vicente and I closer together. I think for the first time Vicente realized what I wanted to be free from. He never said anything about it, but I think he realized what Antonio was doing to me." He paused for only a moment before launching into the story again, "And he was right. The next month of campaigning was rapid and highly effective. We weren't hitting large targets anymore, but we were hitting strategic targets."

* * *

The town was relatively small, but it was at an important crossroad. Control of this particular town would give them the ability to cut off one artery of communication between the South and the capital. Mexico was also well aware that victories would send a clear message back to the capital that the insurgency was not dead. They needed to know that it was more than just one man, more than just Morelos or Hidalgo. The loss of a great general and a great diplomat had weakened the insurgency, but the movement was not dead. Another victory raising the banner of the insurgency would make a statement. Those still loyal to the insurgency would see that there was still strength left. They would not cave to the temptation of a Spanish pardon.

It was high time to win victories. Smaller parts of the insurgency were surviving and striking out, but it was time to make a clear statement. Mexico was ready for the fight. He was glad for the chance, even though he knew that they had lost considerable ground. Too many of the officers who had served under Morelos had accepted a pardon, assuming the cause was lost. Many of the cities they had held had fallen back into loyalist hands. If not for Guerrero's strength and resilience, it would have been easy to call the cause lost. Yet, here Mexico was pulling on his somewhat battle-worn coat, sheathing all of his weapons with the expectation of using them.

This was a familiar routine by now. He placed all of his weapons in place. His belt had clear wear marks from his pistols rubbing against it. The silver in his belt buckle had tarnished to the point that it was unrecognizable. As he had before every other battle, he readied himself. This time he met his general just outside of the encampment, where he was standing looking at the waiting target. Mexico spoke, "What is our plan?"  
The mortal responded, "There should be strong defensive positions on the Northern and Western sides. I'm going to send a small force to the West to I suggest we cut in from the South and establish a firm position to push back the reinforcements."

Mexico looked at the sprawl of buildings that was laid out before them. The town was small enough that there were very few defensible positions. He said, bringing up another point for consideration, "Didn't we hold this town before? Is it possible that there is still loyalty?"  
The mortal shook his head slightly, "There's the possibility, but we can't rely on it. There is a loyalist regiment stationed here and that's dictated the loyalty of the populace for our purposes. I doubt we will get any help."

The words sunk in, frustrating in their honesty. Every gain they made was easily undone by the military superiority of the Spanish. He responded, "Well, then we should attack. The sooner we can make a move, the better." He got a tacit nod of agreement in reply. Mexico could see the tension just beneath the facade of control. This would not be the first battle Guerrero had led. He had shown his initiative when he was just a lieutenant, but this was different. He wasn't nervous about this battle, he was nervous about finally taking on the role of a general. He was questioning his own ability to lead. Mexico reached out and put his hand softly on the other's shoulder. He said, "I'm right here with you. Let's go make our mark."

The mortal turned toward him and his face was fixed, determined. Again, he gave a nod, but this time the unspoken emotion was different. There was confidence in the place of anxiety.

For his own part, Mexico wasn't certain what he felt. He was repressing the battling parts of his mind. The success of the independence was hanging on the actions of one man. But, Mexico knew in his gut that he trusted this man, the one who he had watched grow, who had been at his side for longer than anyone. Mexico took one more look at the vista of their target.

An unbidden frustration hit him. It had been years since he had left his own capital early in the morning to start his own bid for independence. America had been free of England by this point in his revolution. But, Spain had made this so long and so difficult. Mexico couldn't help but feel like he had earned independence with what he had sacrificed. Yet, here he still was fighting to keep the spirit of the insurgency alive. He felt distinctly like he was standing on a precipice. If he took one step the wrong direction he would fall. The thought of going back now sent waves of nausea through him. Would Spain even recognize him now?

He turned away from the view and pushed the thoughts down. The only way to continue on was to not look back. His moment of doubt had come from looking back and letting himself regret and he couldn't afford to have another. There was nothing now but to trust in Guerrero and continue. He walked away, completely aware of what was at stake. He needed this victory and so did his general.

He reached the encampment and mounted his horse. It was so natural now that none of the flurry of activity going on around him even registered. Once he was on his horse, which was still the docile creature he had been given, he could survey the entire camp. The army was small now, smaller than it had ever been before. It was only those who had remained after the news of Morelos's capture. But, there was determination that could not been discounted.

Mexico urged his horse forward, starting his decent towards the town. It didn't take him long to find his general again. He met Guerrero just outside of where the battle lines would be drawn. There was a strange magnetism in the air. Mexico could feel himself being pulled forward, but he was cautious. It wasn't his decision to make and his recklessness had cost him already. So, he took his place beside his general and waited for the orders.

If he needed to stay here until the battle was won, he would do it without objection. He had learned that he did not need to put himself in danger to feel victorious. Even if his heart pumped warrior's blood, he could restrain himself for the sake of the larger victory. He glanced at Guerrero, waiting for orders. The mortal waited for a moment before saying, "I ordered the flanking to be initiated. Once their main force is drawn away, we can cut in from behind and unbalance them."  
Mexico nodded, "We should be able to destroy them then."

The distant sound of canon fire alerted them to the fact that the battle was beginning. There was also the high, strained sound of yelling and musket fire. Mexico could feel a slight smile creep across his lips. They were finally fighting again, finally expressing the ideals of the insurgency with lead and blood. He preferred this to waiting and reading letters about what was happening elsewhere. For what felt like an eternity, Mexico watched as the black smoke that signaled combat rolled into the sky.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, more excited by the prospect of battle than by the months of diplomacy and endless letters. But, he was holding himself back for now. The bells in the town starting to ring, calling more units to arms, suggesting that the struggle was more desperate now. The scent of gunpowder was carried to them on the wind. Mexico's smile widened; the strategy was working perfectly. He put his hand on the handle of his sword, more out of nervous habit than anything else.

Again, he glanced at Guerrero, who was leaning forward in his saddle with his eyes fixed on the place where the conflict was happening. Mexico spoke, "How much longer should we wait? I think the opportune moment is now." Guerrero tore his gaze away from the battle and turned toward Mexico. The look in his eyes sent Mexico's heart racing anew. They were shining with enthusiasm and the kind of fire that was infectious.  
He responded though, his voice strong, "You're right." He paused then tossed Mexico a knowing smirk and said, "Come on, let's destroy them."

The ride towards the heart of the battle was a blur. Mexico could feel the wind in his hair and smell the familiar scent of gunpowder and blood. The roar began to fill his ears as they got even closer. They were approaching the battle from behind , hoping to catch the loyalist force off guard and force them to surrender. The part of the army that Guerrero was leading crashed into the other force, with only a slight reaction from the defending force. A small part of the regiment was able to turn to meet the new front of attack, but the effort was not enough.

Mexico chose to stick close to the side of his general. He was going to protect the man, who was his last hope now. He also did not want to go through the heartbreak of losing yet another leader. He would rather be captured himself than lose yet another leader. So, unlike earlier battles, he did not charge into the midst of it and leave Guerrero behind.

Once the battle was raging around them, Guerrero said, "Let's find their commander. We need to behead the snake." Mexico gave him a curt nod, showing that he understood. He urged his horse forward through the crowd. It was easy to see, even through the smoke of black powder, that there was a man astride a horse, desperately shouting orders. Mexico pulled out his pistol and leveled it at the man. From this distance he could definitely hit the man. By now, he was completely certain of his aim. His hand was steady. If his general wanted the commander dead, he could do that.

But, Guerrero's voice came in his ear, "Aim for his horse. I want to be able to get information out of him."  
Mexico responded, while lowering his pistol so that it was pointed at the horse rather than the man, "Do you think he will have anything useful?" He pulled back the hammer, preparing the shot. The aim was more important with a horse, the wrong shot would only spook it.  
The mortal replied, "If he doesn't, we can get rid of him later."

Mexico let out a very slight laugh before squeezing the trigger. The bullet found its mark and the horse fell to the ground. The commander's face showed a moment of shock and horror before he fell beneath his horse. Mexico slipped his pistol back into his belt. He followed as Guerrero made a direct line towards the fallen commander. The battle around them was not going well for the loyalist force. They would probably have fallen back, but the insurgent army had left no retreat.

Mexico looked around for a moment, but stayed with his general as the mortal galloped closer to his target. Mexico pulled his other pistol, but it was just meant to be a precaution. The tide of the battle had shifted firmly in their favor, so he did not expect to be harried. But, he was an obvious target, so the danger was ever present.

The commander had stumbled to his feet just as Guerrero reached him and drew his sword. The man didn't have a chance to reach for a gun or a sword before Guerrero's blade was at his throat. Guerrero said, a measure of triumph carried on every syllable, "You don't have a chance. Call a surrender before I have to gut you."

The man's eyes were wide. It was clear that he didn't have the courage to face the prospect of his own death. He looked directly at his enemy and called out the order for surrender. The battle quieted around them as the order was heard. Mexico put his gun back in his belt. He felt a glowing pride in his chest; Guerrero had taken on the role of a commander with undeniable success. All the The loyalist commander said was, "Allow my men and me to retreat, that's all I ask of you."

The blade at his throat drew a drop of blood, as Guerrero said, "Terms aren't yours to dictate. My terms are that you retreat North and leave your weapons here. I also want every piece of correspondence you have had with the capital." The glow in Mexico's chest brightened. He was watching his commander give order, he was stuck by how well the mantle of leadership fit the man. Spain's claim that Guerrero could never fill the role of leadership was blatantly untrue.

The man quickly agreed to the terms and divulged that there were orders from the capital in the desk of a manor of the town. Then the commander turned and removed a set of papers from the saddle of his fallen horse. His hand seemed to be shaking as he handed the papers to Guerrero. Mexico was glad to see how well this had turned out. All the uncertainty beforehand had been completely unnecessary.

As Mexico had guessed, the town itself still had a strong loyalty to the insurgency. The majority of the citizens welcomed them like liberators when the loyalist force withdrew. They opened their homes to the insurgency and offered them supplies. But, the most value came from the letters that Guerrero had taken from the commander. They detailed the larger Spanish strategy, laying out a strategy of pardons and containment. It wreaked of the assumption that the war was already won. Each letter was worded as though the insurgency was only an inconvenience. Mexico could barely read one before he could taste bile in his throat.

Later in the night, Mexico was sitting at a table in the manor polishing his guns to remove the residue of battle. The previous owner of the house had been executed for loyalty to the insurgency, so it was open for use. It had been a productive day, but Mexico still had nervous energy that he was exercising in menial tasks. This needed to be done, but it was mostly to keep his hands busy.

His mind was racing. He knew that this town was not unique in its support of independence, but he also knew that many of them could not express it. He could still feel it though, there was still the burning hope for independence in him. But, he was thinking about how grueling this strategy was going to be. They could liberate one town at a time, taking strategic targets to build up a position. But, they were at the weakest they had been since the very beginning. They were going to have to fight for a fraction of what they had had before under Morelos. As proud as he was of Guerrero, this was not where he intended to be.

He told himself that he trusted, that the work would be worth it. But, there felt like there was something missing. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something just out of reach. His mind still slipped back to the feeling that there was importance in his encounters with Iturbide. There was a distinct feeling that he couldn't forget.

Guerrero came into the room and set down a pile of papers on the table. He said, "I found these in the desk. I had to break the lock. It looks like we have a lot of valuable information to go through." Mexico kept his eyes on his guns, which were almost completely clean.  
He responded, "So your instinct was correct. What is our next move?"

He suspected he knew the answer, but he waited to hear it anyway. He owed his general, his friend, at least that much. He couldn't account for the fact that he felt something was off. Today had been a victory, so he couldn't figure out why he felt so disconnected. The other man replied, "I will acquaint myself with the Spanish strategy. Then I will know where we need to hit next. I do not plan for us to stay here very long; we don't want a large army to bare down on our position. As long as we stay mobile, we should be able to gain ground."

Mexico nodded to himself. He held his tongue though. This felt suspiciously like running, and he hated the feeling that he was running from Spain. He kept his stony silence, which would have fooled most people, but this time it was noticed. The other responded, "What is wrong? You're only this quiet when you're upset."

Mexico finally looked up and immediately felt ashamed when he saw the look of concern on Guerrero's face. He couldn't explain the feeling of discontentment to himself, so he certainly couldn't explain it to somebody else. He simply said, "I'm not sure. I just feel like something is missing." He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth. He saw the disappointment pass over Guerrero's face, and he wanted to be able to alleviate it.

The mortal made the feeling worse when he said, "Tell me what you need. I will do anything you ask of me." Mexico considered holding back the only clear instinct he had, but he trusted Guerrero to put store in his instincts. They had not been wrong thus far. He had fought his instincts before and it had resulted in disaster. So, he said, "Have you considered Iturbide?"

Guerrero immediately scoffed in disbelief, "I've considered slitting his throat. I don't see what else you could want from him." It was a sharper response than Mexico had expected. His own feelings towards Iturbide prevented him from really feeling any hatred for the man, but both of his generals had reacted with anger.  
He chose his words carefully as he said, "Iturbide is important. I can feel it. Right now he is not our enemy. I say we should-"

He didn't get a chance to finish what he was saying. Guerrero slammed a fist down on the table and said, "No! If it were not for that man you would be free by now. If he ever gets near you, I will kill him. If he ever claims he wants to free you, it's because he thinks he can gain something."

Mexico picked up both of his pistols and put them back in his belt. He was ready to storm out of the room. He was so certain that Iturbide was going to shift the tide of the independence, and the blatant rejection of that certainty stung. He took a couple steps before his general stood and grabbed his arm. The grip sent sparks up his arms; it was not gentle, but it was protective.

Guerrero said, his eyes boring into Mexico, "Don't be mad. I'm saying this because I care about you. I will not stand by and let a creole hurt you." Mexico could feel his heart pounding against his sternum. His anger immediately evaporated under the look of genuine concern.  
He let out a sigh and said, "When do we stop running if we don't seek help?" The hand on his arm loosened and Mexico could feel the tension leaving the conversation.  
The other answered honestly, "I understand that you're frustrated. But I promise I will do this on my own. We will gain support as we succeed. Stay with me; help me figure out where to attack next." Mexico nodded and sat back down. For now, he would not allow his own doubts to ruin what he had. It was enough now to have faith.

The next month passed with the same ferocious pace. The army moved exceptionally quickly from place to place with the goal of disrupting loyalist attempts to gain control of the south. It was effective, but Mexico couldn't shake the feeling that had hit him during the first battle. He tried reminding himself of what Guerrero had said about Iturbide. But, when he was alone his mind couldn't help but slip back to the battle when he had met the man's eyes and the world had frozen.

The feeling with Iturbide and Guerrero was equal and opposite. They both excited feelings of recognition, but one was warm and comforting while the other felt like a lightning strike. He couldn't erase the thought that Iturbide was important. He felt like the way he always slipped back to the same idea was a kind of infidelity. He trusted Guerrero, and he cared for him, but the thought of Iturbide never fully disappeared.

A month into the campaign, he returned to his tent after a long night of discussing strategy with the same feeling of uncertainty plaguing him. He was beginning to hate the instincts that he had as a country. He wished that these feelings were easy to get rid of. He walked into his tent and pulled off his jacket and placed it on one of the chairs. Mexico was more frustrated than he was tired, even though it was late and he had been awake since early in the morning. He ran one hand through his hair.

They had made considerable progress, but the feeling remained. Mexico turned and caught a glimpse of something unfamiliar lying on one of the tables. He immediately focused on it. He walked closer and realized that it was a letter, crisply folded and sealed with an unfamiliar wax seal. It was fascinating. No one would have reason to write directly to him, unless they were a fellow country. But, this was not a national seal that he recognized, and he knew almost all of the Spanish colonies.

He picked up the letter and turned it over in his hand, looking for a sign of who it was from. He found nothing to indicate the origin of the letter. He made a note to ask Philippines in the morning who had brought the letter. If anyone knew who had delivered the letter, it was probably her.

Sheer curiosity took over and he broke the seal. He unfolded the letter. He did not recognize the handwriting, but it had an elegant scroll to it. He skipped to the end of the letter, looking for the signature. The name at the end of the letter caused his heard to skip a beat. There, in the self-assured calligraphy of the aristocracy was the name Agustin de Iturbide. There was no mistaking it. The man Mexico had been thinking about for so many months had apparently been thinking about him as well. Mexico's eyes darted back to the beginning of the letter, wondering if perhaps this wasn't meant for him. But, his name was obvious at the top of the letter.

He was tempted to read it, but Guerrero's warning came back to him. This letter was meant to communicate with him without his general's knowledge, and that was very dangerous. He folded the letter back up without looking at a single word. He couldn't read it, not without his general's consent. Even if he was intrigued, he had left that kind of duplicity with his life as a colony.

But, the curiosity was eating at him as soon as he put the paper down. He paced the small confines of his tent, debating with himself. It was honest to give the letter to Guerrero without reading it. But, there was enough anger there that Guerrero might decide to get rid of the letter. In that case, this important chance would be lost. It would do no harm read through it and turn it over to his general in the morning. As long as he did not keep to himself, he was not lying. The thought seemed right and he grabbed the letter again and read through it, standing stock still as the words hit him.


	51. Chapter 51

The letter was laid out in brilliant, eloquent sprawl:

My dear country,

I hope this letter reaches you. I have taken great pains in finding a way to write to you. For these years I have seen you from the distance, and I flatter myself to think that I know you. But, alas, you have evaded my best efforts to capture you. Now I have decided to write to you to solicit your attention. It may be my delusion, but I believe that you have taken note of me as I have taken of you.

I shall start at the beginning. I do not know what you have been told about me, but I imagine you have been told that I was offered a position in the rebellion and I declined. Miguel Hidalgo was someone I considered myself well acquainted with. When he spoke to me about the rebellion he was planning, I did not believe in his vision. I admit that I thought there was no possibility that the rebellion could be anything but the short lived folly. I believe, and I still do, that Spain is a tyrant. But, it would not do to replace the authority of Spain with anarchy. When Miguel told me of his idea that the peasantry would rise up, I could imagine it as nothing but anarchy. I swear this to you, I would not have made the choice I did if I had known of your existence. I am sure you can understand that the existence of your kind is not self evident. If I had known of you then, I would have come to your side immediately and persuaded you to pursue a more reasonable path. I think you are far more fit to rule than Antonio. You have been willing I want to bring you independence, and I would intend it to be a lasting one.

Do you know when I first saw you? It was several years ago at the Battle of Monte de las Cruces. I have thought often about the way I saw you leading the charge, shining like the beacon of a new age through the smoke of battle. I knew at that moment that my fate was tied to yours. I knew it as much as I know it now. I will shape your fate. Did you see the fire of my determination when I met your eyes?

I think you are intelligent enough to question my motives; you know I have pursued you ruthlessly. If what Spain has told me about you is true, and I am inclined to believe it is, then you are savvy. You have certainly done well to evade me. So, I am certain that you question why I would persecute the rebellion so throughly. I am no loyalist. I assure you I have no love for Spain. What I have done so far, I have done with you in mind. I thought it best to bring you back to the order of Spain than to throw you to the auspices of rebellion and anarchy. I have fought with such determination because of my loyalty to my Patria.

I did not risk the life of one of my best scouts to exchange pleasantries. But, it was necessary that I first clarify my position. The men surrounding you now would undoubtedly have you believe that I am a loyalist. I doubt that your current general has any love for me. I want you to know me through this letter before I make my intentions clear. I chose to write to you to make a proposition: I propose that we meet. I wish, fervently, to speak to you in person. I have spent long enough seeking you across battlefields. I think I have a plan that will be able to satisfy your ambition for independence without much more bloodshed. I will disclose it when we meet. I will leave the discretion of place and time to you. You are free to lure me deep into rebel territory if that is what you wish. I will come wherever you dictate.

I await your response,

Agustin de Iturbide

Mexico let out a long breath he had been holding as he read. The letter said everything he needed to hear, almost too perfectly. It made it very clear that the feeling Mexico had felt when their eyes had met was mutual. That strange feeling of destiny was shared. Iturbide's assertion that he would shape Mexico's destiny, though it was arrogant, was undoubtedly true.

But, was that enough to lie to Guerrero and engineer an underhanded meeting with Iturbide. Every fiber of his instinct told him that he needed Iturbide, that the patriotism he expressed in this letter was genuine. He knew it with absolute certainty, dizzyingly absolute. Given the record of Iturbide supporting the Spanish government, it didn't make sense for any of this letter to be true. It could easily be a trap. Perhaps Iturbide thought that by returning Mexico to Spain he could reinstate his position and his wealth. If Guerrero was correct about Iturbide's motivation, then that was exactly what he expected.

But, Mexico's sense of danger told him otherwise. How could Iturbide set a trap when he was not dictating where or when they should meet? This letter was not demanding, it was placating. Mexico could see it through the words. But, the risk was still there. Mexico forced himself to consider the hypothetical possibility that it was a trap. If he went, completely without his general's knowledge, and disappeared back into Spain's clutches, he would leave Guerrero with no option. The mortal's face flashed across his mind, heart broken at the betrayal. The image sent a spike of pain through Mexico's chest. He couldn't do it.

His mind was reeling. There had to be a middle ground where he could avoid hurting Guerrero and not spurn Iturbide. This felt like the opportunity he had been waiting for and he didn't want to let it slip between his fingers. Then it struck him. There was a way, and only one. He tightened his grip on the letter and walked out of the tent. He had to find Guerrero. It didn't matter that it was late in the night, or that his General had likely gone to sleep. If Mexico allowed himself to sleep on this instinct, he would lose his nerve.

He barely saw anyone he walked past as he hurried through the camp. So fixed was his intention that they all faded to shapes in the night. He found Guerrero's tent quickly; his feet knew the way well. To his relief, there was still obviously a candle lit behind the canvas. This made things easier. It would have been much harder to explain if he had to wake the mortal. Without even pausing, Mexico pushed aside the flap of the tent and walked in. He knew this was brazen, even untoward, but he needed to act now.

Within the tent, Guerrero was clearly unprepared for the intrusion. He had been in the process of removing his clothing and was down to just his undershirt. He turned quickly on his heel as he heard the steps behind him, a dagger in his hand. But he immediately sheathed the weapon when he saw that it was only Mexico. Then he said as he put down the dagger, "You startled me, Ale. What is wrong?" His tone was surprised, but there was still warmth in his eyes. Mexico could only imagine what this looked like to him. They had agreed that the night had been long enough less than an hour ago.

But, before Mexico could speak the other caught sight of the letter in his hand and said, sounding even more puzzled, "What is that?" There was the unspoken question in his eyes, the same one that Mexico had asked himself. Who would be writing directly to Mexico instead of writing to Guerrero? The country took a step into the tent before answering the question. It was not the kind of news you gave someone standing in their threshold. For a moment, he considered asking the man to sit, but that would be superfluous. So, once he was inside he said, "It's a letter from Agustin de Iturbide. He wrote to me directly."

The words rolled off his tongue, dry and factual. But, he knew what they meant well enough to brace for the reaction. But, it did not come immediately. Guerrero looked genuinely shocked for several moments before he visibly collected himself. His first reaction was not anger, it was only an almost imperceptible wince as he looked at it. There was strain barely concealed in his voice as he said, "You've opened it and read it already. I thought I had made it clear that that man does not care about you."

It may have been a trick of the uneven light in the tent, but Mexico saw another look of pain pass over the man's face. He scrambled for an answer, even a lie that would relieve some of the guilt he was feeling. The words came to him, half way between the truth and deception, "I thought about bringing it to you, but I needed to know." It was not a real excuse, but there was an apology for his weakness implicit in it.

But, Guerrero did not accept it. His emotions finally transformed into anger. A deep crease formed between his brows and his mouth set itself into a scowl. He stepped forward and said, as he took hold of the letter and ripped it from Mexico's hand, "Let me see what that arrogant bastard wrote to you." Mexico offered no resistance as the parchment was pulled out of his hand, leaving a thin cut across the palm of his hand. His plan relied entirely on Guerrero reading and understanding the letter. So, he didn't say anything as the mortal's eyes raced over the paper. He just watched as the man's eyes got wider and wider as he read. The muscles around his jaw were showing through his skin, completely taught. He got to the end of the letter and then looked back up at Mexico, his expression somewhere between incredulity and indescribable rage.

He struggled for his words before saying, "This is-" He paused, swallowed his rage and attempted to start again. He said, "This is the most revolting thing I have ever read! The thought that you would ever dane to meet him." He let out a short bitter laugh, but Mexico did not join him. He wished he could find the concept amusing or absurd as well. But, he had to be honest. He had not come here to lie to the man. He wished that he could; he knew it would have been easier.  
Mexico clenched his hands and took a deep breath before saying, "I do want to dane."

It was all he needed to say to make his intentions clear. He knew that the answer was not what Guerrero wanted to hear, but Mexico would rather have this point clear than to lie and arrange the meeting on his own. This time he did see Guerrero flinch. All emotion had left the mortal's voice as he said, "How can you want that?" Mexico kept his own emotions deep within his chest. He could feel them writhing, wrapping their way around each other, and pulsing painfully. If he let even a piece of his guilt or concern slip through, it would tear him apart and he would end up in his friend's arms begging for forgiveness. Guerrero said, his voice shifting back to anger, "There is no discussion on this."

It sounded like he was trying to draw a line to define his own position. But Mexico squared his stance and responded, "You are right. There is nothing to discuss because I am going." Every word tasted like poison as he spoke it. He knew he was driving wedges into the relationship with every word. But, he was determined. Mexico knew that this was what he needed to do. There was no question for him; he had spent long enough defying his instincts. The incomparable feeling that urged him toward freedom told him that he could not ignore the draw of Iturbide.

He could see Guerrero trying and failing to maintain control. He picked up the dagger from the table and pulled it halfway from the sheath and then slid it back in. It seemed little more than a nervous gesture as he searched for words. He was not a man of letters, so the actual physical act was more familiar to him. Mexico could hear every piece of control the man could muster in the words, "If you were going to go anyway, why bring me the letter? Has it occurred to you that this might be a ploy to capture you?"

His rage was mixing with another pain that Mexico couldn't believe to be anything but disappointment. But here, Mexico knew that he could offer a genuine explanation, one that would hopefully prove that he still cared deeply about the insurgency. He replied, "Of course it has. I'm not a fool." He didn't allow the other to fill the small gap between his sentences. He could see that Guerrero wanted to chastise him, but this time he was going to dictate the direction of the rebellion. He continued, running over the first syllables of whatever his general was about to say, "Which is why I am telling you. I want you to know exactly where I am in case it is a trap. I am going whether you approve or not, but I would rather you were able to save me if there is a trap. I intend to go, but I don't intend to give Iturbide anything he can use against us."

Once he had finished laying out his reasoning, Mexico waited. If Guerrero was the man he thought he was, then he would understand. There was agonizing silence as the man fidgeted again with the dagger in his hand, his fingers betraying how tight his hold was. One hand was tight on the pommel while the other drummed nervously on the sheath. Guerrero did not meet Mexico's eyes and the country feared that he had done irreparable damage. But, then the mortal finally said, "I understand. Perhaps this is not a terrible idea. If you meet him, you will see him for the snake he is."

A self assured smile slowly returned to Guerrero's smile. He put down the dagger and then looked directly at Mexico. The reproach was gone from his eyes, but Mexico fancied he could still see the shadow of distrust there. Would it have been better to bring the letter unopened? The country did not respond immediately. His was not yet certain that his transgression was forgiven. He still felt an unaddressed friction in the air, the accusation that his insistence on Iturbide was unwarranted. Guerrero continued to speak, adding conditions to his approval, "I want you to take note of what he says to you. It will be just like this letter, full of empty flattery. No matter what he says, he will never be a true patriot."

Now Mexico felt comfortable enough to walk further into the tent and find a seat. He had the distinct feeling that now that they had agreement, the conversation would be much longer. Mexico let himself smirk, "I spent nearly 200 years in the Spanish court. I am used to empty flattery; you need not worry about that." He doubted that there was anything a discredited officer could say to manipulate him. Mexico was no longer the malleable colony. He could do exactly the opposite, and it would be easy. Iturbide had reason to hate Spain now. The dismissal was a painful blow to a proud man. Mexico would need to do very little to turn him against the Spanish cause. He spoke again, "Perhaps I can even charm this snake."

The look his general gave him was yet another of disapproval. Mexico could see the lines above the man's brows that indicated prolonged stress. There was distance in his response, "I never thought of you as a courtier."  
The words stung. Mexico had not expected to be met with this resistance. He shifted uncomfortably where he sat as he responded, "Did you imagine I survived two centuries of colonialism with integrity and my good looks?"

He looked up at the other, but the man had turned away from him. The mortal was busying himself with pieces of parchment that he moved from one place to another and then back again. He didn't respond to the rhetorical question, but the muscles of his shoulders were full of tension. Mexico stood up, deciding that he would not let this continue. He said, as he put a hand on the other's shoulder, "Are you disappointed? Have I damaged your faith in me?"

He could feel the emotions flow through his hand. He could feel the muscles tensed in the other's shoulder. He didn't want the answer to the question, but he preferred it to the uncertainty. Guerrero slowly turned towards his country and said, "I have often tried to imagine your life as a colony, especially after the letter from Spain. Knowing you as I do, I could only imagine you lied. I think I always knew you were capable of this. But, I believe you're better than this. I've seen it. You don't need to lie and manipulate like a Spaniard to succeed. If I can bring you independence, I will make sure you never have to again."

Mexico pulled his hand away, not a stung as he expected to be. There was an earnestness in the words that he couldn't help but appreciate. But, he couldn't deviate from his original plan. Iturbide would remain a thorn in their side if he was not dealt with. The urge welled up in Mexico's chest to fall to his knees and tell Guerrero everything from the moment he had left Tenochtitlan, leaving out nothing. But he pushed it away. That could be done later. The man certainly deserved the truth, but now was not the time for it.

Mexico had to remain resolute; he had to deal with the problem of Iturbide first. He put aside all pathos and said, "Do you want me to be completely candid with Iturbide when I meet him? He will take advantage of it." He meant the question honestly. It seemed best to play the politician with a man like Iturbide.

Guerrero seemed to weigh the question for only a moment before shaking his head, "No. Don't give him anything. Just remember, you're only going to get the measure of him. Don't promise him anything." Mexico nodded, glad to finally have this approval. True, this was only a begrudged approval, but it was enough. The chance to see Iturbide off the battlefield was indispensable. He said, slowly moving back to the chair he had vacated, "I won't. Where should I tell him to meet me?"  
_______________________________________________________________

Mexico paused for a moment, the words dying in his throat. He was trying to focus on the memory, but there was another night that was coming to mind. Another night when he had argued with Guerrero about the duplicity of politics. But, then it was him begging to keep his friend home and safe. Guerrero had heeded him exactly as well as Mexico had.

"Babe, are you alright?" America was looking at his lover with genuine concern. Mexico replied shortly, "I am fine." He could hear a slight quiver in his own voice that he hated. Why should this memory, above all of them, feel like a fresh wound. There was more than two centuries between then and now. But, he could see his general's face in his mind's eye and it hurt again.

America replied, "Then why are you crying?" Mexico put his hand to his own cheek and realized that it was wet.  
He said, "Fuck."

He didn't elaborate and America decided not delve into the subject. Instead, he said, "So, what happened next? Did you send a letter back?" Mexico was wiping the moisture away from his cheeks, cursing the fact that he had been so transparent.  
Only once he had finished this task did he say, "Of course I did. Vicente and I spent the whole night working on my response. I agreed to meet him at a small town well within our territory. I had to be sure that I wasn't going to be lured into a trap."

America could hear something hidden just under the surface of the words. For a moment, it struck him as odd that it would take the whole night to write a letter. But, perhaps a letter with such strategic importance look several drafts. He decided not to ask another question. He let Mexico continue to speak, "I was not certain what to expect when I met Agustin. I had been told so much about him that I prepared for lies." He paused for a moment and scoffed, "Like he could ever fool me. Well, needless to say, he surprised me."  
__________________________________________________

Mexico arrived early in the morning, deciding to canvas the area before the fateful meeting. He had a very clear plan of action, of which both he and Guerrero were aware. The spot they had agreed on was on a plain surrounded by forested hills. A fairly small insurgent force could easily hide in the forest and give Iturbide the illusion that he was alone. If the man was planning an assault, he would soon find himself out numbered and over whelmed. Mexico had also insisted on this place in particular because it was small and remote. There would be nothing to serve as a distraction, it would just be him and his destiny.

He had expected a feeling of nervousness to overtake him as the hour of the meeting came nearer. But, there was a cool calm in him. This was what he had been hoping for, if not with such clarity, since the first time he had seen the man. He had been prepared to meet Iturbide face to face on the battlefield for what felt like years now. This was the far more civilized tactic.

He was currently sitting on one of pews in the small chapel. There was something serene about this place. The altar lacked the grandeur of those he was used to, but the early morning light filtering in through the stained glass windows had an etherial charm. He had chosen this place because it was so central and most men would respect the tranquility of a church. Mexico did not feel the anxiety that he should. What would come was meant to be and he could feel it in his chest. His heart beat for this moment, he knew it instinctually. He put his hand to the medallion that was, for once, not under his clothing. He was used to feeling it against his skin. He usually wore it against his heart, but he wanted it to be visible today. It would be best for Iturbide to be able to see it. He needed to know who he was dealing with. Mexico had been wearing it in the same place for so long that wearing it elsewhere felt legitimately odd. Putting his hand against it let him feel it again.

He was not entirely sure of the hour, but he had the distinct feeling that the agreed upon hour was approaching. He should dread it, the prospect of coming into contact with this loyalist commander who had hunted him for so long, but the feeling would not come. If anything, this was what he had been waiting for.

The door opening behind him broke the silence. Mexico felt a familiar sensation run up the back of his neck and he knew who was looking at him. He was keenly aware of Iturbide's presence, but he still stood slowly. There was no need to let Iturbide know how eager he really was for this meeting. It would be a mistake to show his hand so early. As Mexico turned, he had to put conscious thought into hiding his own reaction.

Iturbide was standing not ten feet away from him with the morning sun filtering in around him. The mortal was dressed very modestly and it seemed strange, until Mexico considered the reason. It would be too risky to travel deep into insurgent territory wearing the uniform of the loyalist army. The man was no fool. As soon as he met Mexico's eyes, the country felt a jolt of the familiar energy shoot down his back. It was difficult to keep himself completely neutral with all the nerves in his body singing for this moment.

The mortal gave him a slight smile and then inclined his head in a gesture that seemed to be a bow. He said, "My country." Mexico couldn't help but feel flattered. Here was a man who was well known for his pride bowing to him. He could not take this action on complete faith, even if he wanted to. He waited, letting the mortal continue to dictate the conversation. He could better gauge Iturbide's position if he listened rather than voicing his own ambitions. He was not disappointed. Iturbide said, "I must admit that I was not certain you would be here. I am very glad that you are."

Mexico feigned surprise even though he knew the reason. He said, "Your letter was so intriguing. How could I resist?" Mexico could see a slight shift in the light as he met Iturbide's eyes again. He wondered if he was betraying the excitement he felt. It was fascinating to finally put a voice to the face he had seen so many times. Iturbide's words had the polished edge of an expensive education and experience. There was something in his tone that reminded Mexico of Madrid, of the high culture of the court. Mexico expected nothing less, considering what he knew of the man's background.

The response was careful with the same smooth intonation, "I thought you may think it was a trap. There was no way to make my intentions completely clear in the letter."

Mexico felt a coy smile curl across his face as he took a step closer to the man. He had his answer prepared and he was certain the other was not expecting it. He said, "Well, I certainly hope it is not for your sake." He fixed his gaze directly on the man's eyes and added, "It would go very badly for you." He did not need to elaborate on the threat. The point was not to intimidate Iturbide anyway. Mexico meant to make it clear that he was neither naive nor trusting.

He saw the realization dawn on the other's face. The expression passed from shock to a look of bemusement. He replied, matching Mexico's step toward him, "Then you are not a fool. I should have expected as much." There was a tension in the stillness of the air, but there was a clear solution.  
Mexico spoke again, "We have much to discuss. Come, walk with me."

He didn't wait for a response, he simply took a few steps towards the door of the church. He knew that if Iturbide was in earnest, which he seemed to be, he would follow. Sure enough, he heard the sound of footsteps falling in step with his own right beside him. Iturbide would not let this chance escape him, even if it meant humbling himself. He did, however, seize the chance to speak again, "Am I right in assuming that your general knows of our rendezvous?" There was no trepidation in his voice. Mexico made note of it. The man didn't balk at the idea that his enemy could know his exact location.

Mexico glanced over at the man and attempted to gauge his expression. But, there was little there to read. For now, Mexico would have to go off of instinct. He knew what he wanted and had a good idea what he needed to say to get it. He answered the direct question, "Of course he does. If you expect me to lie to my general, you are mistaken."

They reached the door and stepped out into the bright sunlight. Mexico could feel the soft warmth on his skin. It seemed to be reassuring him that he was on the right track. Only once they were outside did Iturbide finally respond, "Perhaps that is better. I do not fear him half as much as I fear some of the ambitious in the capital who would gladly tear me down. They want nothing more than their own promotion."

Mexico could hear the deliberate pauses that were meant to make the words more persuasive. It was a rhetorical strategy that he was well aware of. There was also a bitterness beneath it. Mexico had to put a conscious effort to not smirk. He knew where this was coming from. For a proud man, a dismissal was the ultimate insult. He had his own parry for this, "I have been told that you are no different."

This statement he expected to get a reaction to. This would serve as a test to see how Iturbide dealt with the rumors about him. A slight contortion of discomfort passed over the mortal's face. But, there was little of that pain in his voice when he said, "Success breeds envy. Envy breeds lies. I am a patriot, and only those Spaniards who covet my position." He paused for only a moment before continuing, the bitterness he was trying to hide broke through, "And Spain seems more than willing to give it to them, regardless of what I have achieved."

There was activity all around them as the people of the town started their days, but it was all background to Mexico. His mind was fixed firmly on the conversation at hand. He had just gained a very important point of leverage and he intended to use it. He said, "Don't judge Antonio too harshly for that. It is in our natures to favor and reward our own. He'll never let you rise too high because you weren't born on Spanish soil."

He allowed his eyes to linger on Iturbide's face as he let the implied promise sink in. The other's eyes widened as he realized what Mexico was really saying. The sun played across the glint of ambition in them. Before he could inquire for more details, Mexico shifted the topic of conversation. He meant to pique the man's interest without promising anything concrete. Promises could be broken, but temptation was left to the imagination.

Mexico urged the conversation in a different direction by saying, "But I'm sure you do not want to revisit your dismissal. You said in your letter that you had a proposition for independence and I am curious as to what it is."

The question of what Mexico was really promising was on the tip of the mortal's tongue, but he was forced to swallow it. Mexico was amused. The man wanted to ask what he could gain by backing a different side, but if he wanted to not appear to be an opportunist then he would have to keep it to himself. Mexico knew this game well. It had been a while since he had gotten to watch someone squirm like this. There was a slight smile on his lips that he did not need to hide. Iturbide would interpret it only as a reaction to the idea of independence. He knew full well how long Mexico had been fighting to be free.

There was, only for a moment, a very pregnant silence while Iturbide seemed to measure his words. His face betrayed little of what he was thinking, but Mexico could see it beneath the surface. The man was ambitious, but that was not off-putting. On some level, it was necessary to have ambition to rise in the ranks of the elite. But, the mortal was restraining himself so that he could maintain his claim of patriotism. To withhold his plan now would be an exceedingly poor idea. That had been the draw to this meeting.

As they continued to walk, keeping step with each other, Iturbide spoke, adding emphatic gestures where necessary to make his point, "You must know that your current strategy will only prolong the insurgency. I believe that I have the key to your independence. Make me your general and I will bring the support of the creole class. I am not the only one throughly disillusioned with Spanish duplicity." For the first time in the conversation, there was confidence ringing through every word he spoke. Mexico could feel it resonate in his chest like the ringing of a bell.

But, he also heard the words and understood the implication. He said, allowing his voice to sound sharper, "I will not throw away Vicente for you. He is my general and that is not negotiable." He could see the shock that momentarily passed over the man's face. Had he really expected no resistance? If so, he was mistaken. Iturbide stopped walked, which forced Mexico to stop as well and face him directly.  
Only once they were stopped again and their eyes met, he said, the sound of a sneer slipping into his voice, "You know that he can't win on his own. He is a brave man and a cunning warrior, I admit it. But, even if you succeed, he will never command the respect of my class. You're clever enough to know that."

Mexico held his ground, letting no hint of his reservations find their way into his words, "I value loyalty. He has protected me; you have hunted me. If you want my esteem, you will have to earn it with more than flattery." He pushed away all thoughts that this treatment was too harsh. On this he had to remain firm. He met Iturbide's eyes and expected the man to either balk or argue back.

Instead, he smiled, breaking his stoic composure, "You are even better than I expected. Spain speaks of you as though you were easily manipulated. I see that's not the case." Mexico drew in a sharp breath. He had thought little of what Spain said about him to his own people. He shouldn't be surprised considering Spain had blamed everyone else for his rebellion. It was so delusional that it could only be an invention of Spain's own distressed imagination.

He couldn't completely suppress the urge to laugh. A snicker escaped from his mouth before he could stop himself. The other tilted his head with a look of amusement. As he took a step away from Iturbide, Mexico gave an explanation, "I could write a book on what Antonio doesn't know about me." He took another step and turned again to continue walking.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, and now Mexico could feel it hot on his shoulders. But, he felt curiously in control. Iturbide had to follow him or choose to compromise his own position. As Mexico expected, the man couldn't resist the temptation to follow after him. There was also no need for him to speak again. Iturbide's eyes were fixed on him, and there was a sense of growing fascination in his expression.

Mexico waited for the words he knew were coming. Like clockwork, Iturbide said, "I admit I am impressed. But, my resolve is strong. I know I am destined to end this war. I thought that I would do it by ending the insurgency. Now I know I will not fight for Spain."  
Mexico smiled to himself. There was a strain in the carefully controlled tone that indicated that there was truth in these words. Emotions were breaking through again. Mexico also knew the feeling that the man was failing to articulate it, he had it in his own chest. Destiny exerted itself in the most inexplicable draws.

Mexico asked the next question out of curiosity, not as a test, "What will you do if Spain offers to reinstate you?" There was the distinct possibility of exactly that happening. Despite his jealousy, Spain was no fool. He would soon realize that he had not won the war and he would remember Iturbide's victories. He would offer no real apology, but he would give the man back command in hopes of ending the war.

Iturbide scoffed, "He will not. He made it perfectly clear that he will not let me command an army again."  
Mexico stopped walking, the heel of his boot throwing up a small cloud of dust. He said, "He will. In a few months, he will regret your dismissal because you are talented and he is desperate."  
The mortal's eyebrow arched slightly higher. He responded, "I do not forgive slights against my honor."

Mexico caught a flash of something in Iturbide's eyes. It was the pain of truly wounded pride. He could certainly use that to his advantage. But, for now, it was not of use. So, he said, "I take comfort in that." He looked directly into the other's eyes yet again, letting the feeling of shared destiny wash over him again. There was a plan growing in his mind, one that would bring independence with relatively little pain. But, it required Iturbide to play his part, even if he was not completely aware of it. The wind blowing through the streets, which were getting progressively more crowded, and played across the back of his neck. This was completely right, he could feel it. He said, "You should write to my general. I will not replace him, but if you can convince him, then you can both have command. But, if you choose to take your old position back, I will consider you my enemy again."

As he spoke, he saw Iturbide's mind mulling over the idea. No doubt, he was weighing what he he could gain from each option. Mexico allowed it. He felt with an unshakable certainty that the eventual answer would be in his favor. It wouldn't hurt to prod the man in the right direction. Mexico added, "Remember, it is in the nature of a country to love and reward their own."

With that, he extended his hand in a gesture that was meant to show that this conversation was over, but it was also meant to signal the fraternity between them. The mortal reached out and took the extended hand. Neither of them were wearing gloves and the contact of skin against skin sent a feeling of pure energy up Mexico's arm. As he looked directly at the man, the light seemed to distort for only a moment and he swore he could see the man's head crowned with gold. But, as quickly as the vision came, it was gone. But, Mexico felt like the air had been knocked out of him. Iturbide said only, "I will write to you again soon." Then he released Mexico's hand and walked away. Mexico was left standing in the glowing sun of midday, his entire body singing with the feeling that he had just set himself on the right path. His destiny was laid out at his feet and he was ready to take whatever steps he must.


	52. Chapter 52

"What did you think of him?", Guerrero had his gaze fixed on Mexico and there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.  
Mexico answered honestly, as he tapped a single finger against the table, "I think he will be useful."

He knew that it wasn't the answer the other wanted, but it was what came to mind. There was no good way to articulate the feelings that had rushed through him when he had taken Iturbide's hand. The mortal eyed Mexico with a look that indicated that he was not impressed with this noncommittal response. He did not let the Mexico get away with this evasion. His eyes would not release the other as he said, "That is not what I meant. How do you find him personally?"

The meal that was sitting in front of them was little more than pretense to this conversation. Mexico had expected that this conversation would happen as soon as he got back. It would be far too tantalizing news for Guerrero to let Mexico wait. Now that it was clear that the encounter had not been a trap, Iturbide's motivations were all the more intriguing. Not a ten minutes after he had dismounted, Guerrero pulled him into his tent with the rushed excuse of dinner. Mexico was far too tired to fight it or to avoid the topic. He had gotten what he wanted already, so he could give for now. The ride back to camp had been long, and he craved little more than a glass of wine and sleep. But, those luxuries could not be had on a whim on the war path.

He answered the question more completely, "He's an ambitious man, but I don't hold that against him. He is tiring of his Spanish affinity, we can be certain of that." It was still a careful answer; he was not completely able to express why he had such a strong feeling toward the man. Mexico had spent the time riding back to camp formulating a plan to bring Iturbide to their side permanently. It had been clear that the man had not yet cast his lot with either side, and Mexico understood why. Iturbide did not want to commit. He was being careful to choose the side that would be the most rewarding. He was not the idealist that Guerrero or Morelos was.

His general still looked utterly unconvinced as he said, "And what about his affinity for you?" Mexico could hear a protective edge in the man's voice, and he was touched. His guard had not relinquished that role. Iturbide, if he was sincere, would have a challenge in convincing Guerrero that he could be trusted. But, this was exactly why Mexico had placed the task in Iturbide's hands. He would not be an intermediary between feuding forces again. If there was to be unity between the two, it would come from their own understanding.

He answered, not yet revealing the entirety of his plan, "He said he believed in my independence. We'll see if that holds over time. I do not think his word is enough." The answer should have been enough, but the other had learned to see through him too well to accept it.  
Guerrero said, "I miss when I was just a soldier to you. You weren't so guarded with me. I don't care if he talked about me, but I need to know what he said." There was an edge of anger in his voice, but it was not directed at Mexico. It sounded more like bitterness at the position they were in and the caution that it necessitated. But, Mexico felt the sting of the reproach.

He bit his lower lip while he searched for the words. They had spoken little about Guerrero, but he wanted to choose the words that didn't sound like he was trying to conceal anything. Finally he said, "Iturbide offered me independence in exchange for the position of general. But, I told him that you had earned the position and I would not displace you for his ambition."

He watched as the mortal's eyes widened slightly and the corners of his mouth twitched. His answer was short, "Did you really?" Mexico smirked to himself, he could hear the shift in emotion. The man was impressed, though he would not say so.  
Guerrero spoke again, "I thought you would take an opportunity for independence." Mexico let out a slight laugh. He knew that there was no real scorn in the statement, just the amusement that his country could so flippantly reject an offer. Still smiling to himself, the mortal continued, "Was his pride ruffled?"

Mexico answered in kind, leaning forward, "He did look flustered. I think his ambition will win him over eventually. You should expect a letter from him. If my intuition is correct, he will wait to declare his allegiance until the most crucial moment."  
The other looked unconvinced, but he only said, "So, what should I do? Do you expect me to wait while he chooses his loyalty?"

Mexico immediately shook his head. As certain as he was of the eventual outcome, he could not wait for the war to be decided. Spain knew he had not lost and would press his advantage as soon as possible. To stop and wait would be as good as conceding defeat. Mexico felt a smile on his own lips and said, "No. I think we need to force him into a decision. If we strengthen our own position, Antonio will reinstate Iturbide because he will see no other option. That will force Iturbide into the decision between joining us and raising arms against us."

He expected this to be the end of the conversation. Yet again, there was little more left to say. But, the other replied, "And if he decides incorrectly? We will be outnumbered." Mexico let out a short sigh. He had no desire to make contingency plans, even though it was wise to do so. The truth was without Iturbide's defection, they would remain little more than a band of rebels. He had heard little from Europe, but if the rumors of Napoleon's defeat were true, then they were all the more lost. The instability that Mexico had used to press his advantage would be gone. If the Spanish monarchy was restored, then victory was all but a faint hope. When he took the time to listen to the political situation in Europe, he remembered how long it had been since he had first rebelled. In the time he had spent fighting Spain, the rest of the world had moved on.

He answered as bluntly as he could, "Yes we will be. That would happen whether I approached Iturbide or not. We know the terrain better than they ever will. I fear that will not be enough." He left only a moment of silence for the other to process what he was saying before he added, "If we fail, I will be clapped in irons and dragged back to Madrid. I won't regale you with what Antonio will do then. You will likely be executed. That is why we need Iturbide."

With that, he stood up. The conversation had gone on long enough. They both knew the risks already, they had since the very beginning. Mexico was expecting another confrontation, but there wasn't one to be had. His general looked exhausted, but he responded, "In that case, I will muster our forces. If Iturbide decides to write, I will respond." Mexico nodded before slowly returning to his seat.

The next morning he was greeted as soon as he left his tent by Philippines, who spoke without any salutation, "I would like to return to Manilla." The request was surprising, partially because Mexico had not paused to think of her in what he now realized was months. She had taken care of little matters and left him free to focus exclusively on the war. But this request, thrust upon him suddenly, made him aware of how little mind he had been paying her. Her presence seemed to be a comforting constant.

There was a sudden rage in Mexico's stomach. She was asking to leave him when the rebellion was at its most desperate. His response was sharp, "Why do you want to run away?"  
Her dark eyes narrowed as she said, "I am not running. You don't want me here; it's become very clear." There was the crisp tone of careful scripting in her voice. She had thought about these words and chosen them carefully. Mexico couldn't make sense of them though.  
He said, actually flustered, "What have I done to make that so clear?"

She stamped her foot as though frustrated. As careful as her request had been, she seemed just as reluctant to give the real reason for her request. Finally, the words broke through, "You left yesterday to negotiate with your enemy without even telling me. You put yourself in danger for what? What if you had been betrayed and captured? I would have been left here."

Her voice broke and she looked away. Before Mexico could react she steeled herself and said, the air of pretense returning, "I know you love your General. You take his council, trust him with your life, and spend your time exclusively with him. There is no space left for me." Mexico was struck with the quiver in her voice. Had he really been so absent? It had been months since he had spoken at length to her or his brother. He had thought it was clear that the war was becoming more desperate and his time was no longer easy to give. She couldn't leave him, not now, not like this. It was like everything had been lost.

He replied, somewhere between anger and grief. "You can't leave. I met with Iturbide alone because that is what I promised him."  
She met his eyes and said, unflinching, "You didn't tell me." Her point was, admittedly, fair. But, in this moment he had no room for compromise. He scrambled, searching for a reason to keep her here. His real reason was selfish, but he couldn't say it.  
Instead, he said, "We don't control a port. Even if I agreed, there would be no way to do it."

She didn't seem moved by his argument, which was clearer when she said, "Then just give me a fast horse. I can find my way there myself and smuggle myself onto a ship." Mexico clenched his jaw and tried to collect himself. She had thought this through far more than he had anticipated.  
He said, his jaw still clenched, "You can't leave."

He could feel the rage mounting just behind his temples. Though he felt comforted by her presence, he also needed her to remain so his forces were not spread thin. If she went back to Manilla, she would be in an area under Spanish control. Mexico's options were either allowing her to fall back into Spain's hands or allocating troops to protect her. If he took the first option, then he had no way to ensure she didn't spill his secrets to Spain. After what had happened with Texas, Mexico couldn't risk letting those who knew his plans out of his sight. He would not risk sending her back.

He continued talking, the anger seeping into his voice, "I will not send you back into Spanish control; I don't know what he will do to you to get to me. I told you I would win freedom for both of us and I can't do that if you go back to Manila."  
She recoiled and took a step back.

Mexico could have continued to insist that she could not leave, but he could see his words taking effect. She drew in one slow breath before looking directly at him. He could see the emotions swimming in the depths of her eyes. She finally said, taking in one more breath to steady himself before speaking, "Promise me that you will still free me when you win. We made that agreement years ago. Say it again now."

There was a quiver in her voice. The request was reasonable though; if she had doubts then assuring her would be the easiest. There was no reason for the doubts though. For the first time in months, Mexico could say with certainty that all the pieces were falling into place. But, he would do it to soothe her. Disunity was damaging and this was easy enough to remedy. Mexico said, choosing his words very carefully, "Piri, I will win this war for both of us. I will do this and I will give you your freedom." She looked up at him, biting her lower lip. For a moment, he wondered if she believed him, but then she nodded.

"It would have been kinder to let her go.", America commented. Mexico could have snapped back; he usually would, but in this case there was little to argue about.  
He responded, "You're right. In retrospect, it would have been. But, I was certain that I would be able to free us both and it was too dangerous to let her go."

He turned to see the blonde shaking his head slightly, apparently to himself. Mexico didn't bother to ask why; he knew that it was impossible for his lover to conceal anything for too long. America eventually said, "So that's why she never trusted me." Mexico let out a sigh. It was so easy to comment on mistakes in retrospect, so easy to second guesses decisions they had both made. When America talked about his own past, he didn't claim that his decisions had been perfect. Mexico was aware that if he had allowed her to return to her own country, she likely would never have betrayed him to Spain. She had been more trustworthy than his brother. However, the pressures of war had to be accounted for.

America moved on to a different topic, "So what did you do next?" It was his usual question, but it was born of a legitimate interest. It was late in the night, but he was still listening intently. Mexico couldn't help but feel flattered. America had been irritating at points, but he was listening and trying to understand. Mexico smiled slightly, appreciating the moment before he delved back into the story of his independence. From here, the story itself wasn't as uncertain.

He responded, "Well, I did exactly what I said I would. I continued to apply pressure so Spain would have to reinstate Iturbide. They weren't huge victories, but they worked as planned. I won't bore you; you know what it is like to fight small battles. Eventually, Antonio fell for my trap. I didn't doubt that Augustin would choose me over Spain. He was a proud man and he didn't forget the slight of being dismissed. Eventually he chose a side."

Mexico could tell when he entered the tent from the look on Guerrero's face that the news was good although theoretically nothing had changed. They had taken more towns and cities, but it was hardly changing their position. There were several separate forces attacking Spanish conveys, gaining ground, and proving themselves to be a threat. Spain had yet to prove his claims that the defeat of the insurgency was imminent. Undoubtedly, he was beginning to reevaluate his strategy.

Thus, when Guerrero came to him with a look of excitement, he could feel that the moment he had been calculating and planning for had finally arrived. The first words the mortal said to him were, "You were right."  
Mexico smirked, but he needed to ask, "Of course I was. What has happened?"

Only then did he notice that there was a letter in his hand and Mexico immediately knew who it was from. The letter he had instructed Iturbide to write had finally made its way to Guerrero. Judging by the look on the general's face, it was all good news. The man responded, "Your risks paid off, Iturbide has written to me. He claims he wants to gain my trust so that we can work together for independence. Spain has issued an official apology and offered to reinstate him."

Mexico wasn't surprised by any of the news, he had expected as much. He felt slightly smug about the idea that he still knew Spain well enough to predict what he would do. Now Mexico could turn the tide on Spain the same way the other had done to him years ago. He responded, taking a glance at the map that was laid out on the table, "So, he's going to reject Spain's offer?" This was the next logical step: Iturbide should snub Spain and bring his influence to the insurgency. Mexico had made it clear that if Iturbide were to accept his old position, he was still an enemy.

But, Guerrero said, "No, he is going to take back his old command." Mexico immediately stiffened. He was caught off guard. This was not what he had planned. Why would Iturbide take back his old position if he was not planning to take Spanish favors? Mexico looked at the map again, this time with the awareness that if Iturbide brought the entire loyalist army South with his skill in command, the war would effectively be over. It was chilling. He spoke, surprised at how calm he sounded, "Then it would seem that you are right; it's all words."

He expected to see a look of satisfaction when he looked at the mortal, but surprisingly there wasn't. Instead, the other responded, "I don't think so. He claims he's a patriot, but refusing the appointment would have limited his influence. At least, that's what he claims."

Mexico raised an eyebrow. They were looking at each other across the table, but they were close enough to gauge each other's expressions. Mexico knew that the other could read him; they had known each other long enough for that. He was puzzled, after how clear the man had been about his distaste, this change of heart seemed strange. He finally said, "I thought you didn't trust him."

The smile on the mortal's face was far more reassuring than anything he could say. He leaned forward, both hands braced against the table. He said, with that same smile, "I don't trust him. But, he is doing exactly what you predicted. He may be an opportunist, but you can read him. You are better at politics than he is." Mexico took a moment to consider this. It was true that Iturbide had chosen to write to Guerrero, and that was a sign that he was still contemplating siding with the insurgency. As a commander, it would have been smarter to keep this information from the enemy. But, he had chosen to write. It could be true that he would have a stronger influence on the creole class from a position of command.

But, that wasn't the entire reason. He let out a sigh as it occurred to him exactly what Iturbide was doing, "He hasn't made a decision yet. He's waiting to see what he can gain." He paused before asking, "Did he say anything else?" His instincts told him that there was something else that Iturbide wanted to say. There had been so much just beneath the surface when they had met. With the elevation of the man's status, he would undoubtedly still be attempting to gauge what Mexico was offering.

This man, whatever his feelings towards Mexico, was an aristocrat at heart, not willing to abandon his status for ideals. Guerrero nodded and produced another piece of parchment, still sealed, from his pocket and reached out to hand it to Mexico. For explanation, he said, "He asked me to give this to you. At least he had the decency to not write directly to you this time." Without pausing, Mexico slid his finger under the crease and broke the seal. This letter was much shorter than the first. It did not lack the polished rhetoric that seemed to characterize the man:

Alejandro,

I want you to know that my faith in you is unchanged. The news that I accepted my old position is attached to this letter, and I know you will take it as my betrayal. But, I want you to know that I am still loyal to you. If I had turned down the reinstatment, I would have been denounced as a radical. I can work for your independence more effectively here. I have been making inquiries with other members of my class, and they feel ill-used by the Spanish regime. I hope to persuade them to support your independence. Until I can rally enough support, I will have to maintain the pretense of supporting Spain. I will maintain contact with your general if he will reply to me.

You should know that Spain is over confident. He believes that my campaign will end your insurection. I am certain he has no suspicion of my loyalties. In apparent reckompence for my dismissal, he has granted me considerable discression. I will make it clear that I am still hunting you while doing relatively little. It will grant me the time to negotiate with your general. I will not make my intentions clear until we have agreed upon a plan for independence.

I have not forgotten what you said to me, and I hope you will not consider me an enemy. I realize you have little reason to trust me, but I am throwing myself on your good will. If you think I have truly abandoned your cause, you may have my life. I have no doubt that there will be clashes between us when I bring my army south. If you do not believe my loyalty, find me on the battlefield and cut me down. I will not raise a hand to stop you.

Augustin de Iturbide

It was a highly diplomatic letter, and Mexico wasn't entirely sure he believed the last paragraph. It seemed strange that the man would offer his life when they had spoken to each other once. It was so grandiose that he was inclined to believe that this was just a gesture. If it did come to a battle, then they would see. This was frustratingly uncertain. Were Iturbide not so political, there would be certainty. The letter indicated that he was still smarting from his dismissal and willing to turn on Spain.

Mexico turned away from the letter with another exasperated sigh, "It's easy for him to choose when it is convenient to him." He crumpled the letter in his hand, trying to crush the words. The light shifted in the tent, casting long yellow light over both of their faces. Mexico felt another wave of deep frustration. He wanted to be able to promise Guerrero that there was a clear end to the insurgency. The feeling was familiar, but there was something different now.  
He didn't have time to place what the aberrant feeling was before the other said, "We aren't going to let him have time. I will write to him, but I will treat him as an enemy until he takes action otherwise. If we have the opportunity, I plan to attack him."

Now the smile made sense; the letter gave him both reason to attack Iturbide and to believe that there could be an end in sight. Mexico should have known as much; it wasn't like Guerrero to take a promise as certain. He wasn't a man of the upper classes who would trust in the word of a man who was still his enemy. He trusted in action. He then added, "Unless you are going to tell me not to."

Mexico walked around the table so that he was was standing next to his general. He could not help but feel proud of the way the man had grown. And yet, he was still not demanding, not ordering. For a moment he wondered if it would be wise to elevate Iturbide, who would likely not place so much store in his strategy. But, there was no denying what he felt. For all his affection for Guerrero, he needed Iturbide. He buried that feeling for now and said, "I say we attack when we have the chance. Iturbide will know we are not in a weak position."

He put one hand on the table, and he noticed that the other's hand, which was already there, moved slightly closer to his own. He glanced over to see that the other looking directly at him. In the light, his eyes seemed impossibly deep, and even slightly pained. It was the look of a man who was holding back something he wanted to say. Mexico asked, "You didn't have to give me the letter. Why did you?"  
The man took a deep breath before saying, "I think you trust him too much. I've told you before: I want you to see who he really is."

Mexico could feel that this was not all of it, but he wouldn't ask. He suspected what it was. He was hesitant to allow Iturbide influence, even though he knew that Iturbide's men and influence could win the war. There was nothing Mexico could say to assuage the feeling, so he deflected, "We have the upper hand here." He looked directly at the other man and said, "We'll make it clear that we're not cornered."  
Guerrero smiled at him and nodded, "Thanks to this letter, we have at least a week to prepare."


	53. Chapter 53

It wasn't difficult to track the movement of Iturbide's army; it displaced enough resources. The insurgent army was supported by the populace and it was able to fold itself into the landscape. By contrast, Iturbide traveled with a arrogance that made it easy to follow. With the much smaller force, Guerrero was waiting for the right moment. Mexico followed his reasoning; if they could force Iturbide to defend his flanks on inferior ground, they could force a retreat. It was difficult to be this patient, but Mexico could tell himself that it would be worth it.

The morning broke bright blue and brilliant, waking Mexico immediately. The light was bright, but not unpleasant. It was clear and crisp; such that Mexico found himself awake and aware of the great gravity of the day. The awareness was not terrifying. He could feel the importance of the day in the air with absolute certainty. He got out of bed and started dressing without any hurry. There was a battle coming over the horizon, but he felt a peaceful certainty. It was coming as certainly as the night, and Mexico would be ready.

It was easy now to dress quickly and be ready. He had discussed the strategy the day before with his general, and he knew what the strategy was. They had been tracking Iturbide's force, and now there was an opportunity. With the route Iturbide had chosen, he would pass through an exposed valley today. It was important that they strike today or they may not have a better opportunity. Mexico didn't feel any trepidation at the idea of attacking Iturbide's position, even with the man's protestations of loyalty. It would either force a decision or expose the duplicity. Either way, he would have an answer on what felt, for the first time, like the certain end of the insurgency.

There was something calming about it, having two paths laid out in front of him. One led back to Spain, the other to triumph. There was not a question of which he had to choose. There was only one thought as he dressed: He had to ensure that he was on the path to independence. That could only be bought about by ascertaining Iturbide's intentions. He finished dressing before stepping out into the bright morning light.

He found everything in order for the army to move again, and he was completely unsurprised. This had become routine and the army did it with astounding efficiency. Like he had so many times, he found his horse and mounted. Excitement mounted in his chest as he got closer to his general, who was giving hurried orders on what had already been decided upon. Mexico could see the truth in the set of the man's shoulder. He was worried that they would squander this chance. They were both aware of the fact that they were attacking a force that outnumbered them significantly. But, that was why it was important to strike now, when the terrain favored a smaller, more knowledgable force.

Mexico dismounted, leading his horse, and walked over to Guerrero. He spoke, "I think we've prepared enough. There's nothing to it now but to attack. We have the upper hand." He had said the same thing the night before, but there was no harm in repeating it. The odds were not, in a strictly statistical sense, in their favor, but Mexico was certain that this was the moment.  
The other turned to him and nodded, "We can crush him if we do this correctly."

He turned back to his own horse, and spoke as he mounted, "And then he'll have to make up his mind." His tone was sharp, and there was an undertone of frustration. Mexico took this as a sign that he should also mount again.  
When they were level again, he asked, "Has he written to you again?"

He suspected the answer by the tone of the man's voice. It was further confirmed by the aggravated way the other exhaled, "It's difficult to tell whether I'm writing to a politician or a mistress. He will praises me only so long as he doesn't have to commit. We need to show him that until he acts, he is still our enemy." Mexico nodded shortly. He had expected as much; there had been little risk thus far in Iturbide maintaining his Spanish loyalties. The man was too cautious to state his loyalties openly now.  
He said shortly, "Then we need to win today."  
The other nodded to Mexico, "This is our best chance."

As the sun rose into the sky, the army arrayed itself on both sides of the valley. The strategy was to push from both flanks, forcing Iturbide to either stand or retreat North. Allowing him to retreat to the South would be tantamount to failure. Mexico took a deep breath to calm himself. He wasn't patient, but he had learned a degree of control. Jumping the gun would waste their chance, and he could not risk it. It would be far more prudent to maintain a distance from the battle until it was clear that they had a victory. There was more danger to his person while they had inferior numbers and Iturbide's ambitions were still uncertain. Even though it was counter to his nature, he would wait and watch Iturbide's army, which looked massive, even at this distance.

The force was spread across the valley, and it made it clear how large the army Iturbide had been entrusted with was. It should have struck him as intimidating, but Mexico found himself smirking. When he had Iturbide's loyalty, and he was still instinctively sure that he would, he would be able to turn the lion share of the army against Spain. With those numbers, this would be over.

A voice cut through his thoughts, "We are in position."  
Guerrero paused for a moment before saying, more tenderly, "What are you thinking about?" It was clear that, in the midst of giving official news, he had noticed Mexico's smile. The country had to pause for a moment to collect his thoughts. He was wary of the fact that Guerrero did not trust Iturbide, and that the mistrust was far more practice.  
He said, "I was considering what victory would mean. With Iturbide's numbers I could drive Antonio off my land."

He heard the confident growl in his voice and felt it in his chest. It was the same thought he had held onto for years now, but now it felt much closer. He didn't need to look to know that the other had smiled slightly; it was easy enough to tell from his voice as he said, "Well then I certainly hope we succeed today." There was the unspoken implication tied to the earlier news. Mexico knew that his general was only waiting for his signal to order the attack. Before he gave it, Mexico took one more look at the valley below them. They were hidden in the trees that grew on either side, but his view was clear. It looked like any military encampment, completely unaware of the ambush that was coming. The red and white standard of the Spanish army flew above many of the tents, but as Mexico took a breath before speaking, all the flags fell.

A dreadful stillness settled in as Mexico turned to Guerrero and said, "It's time." The other nodded, and at his signal the now familiar thunder of canons. Mexico felt some comfort in the deafening sound and the smell of gunpowder. He kept his eyes fixed on the camp below. As soon as the sounds of the shots broke the midday silence, there was a flurry of activity. But, it was not enough. There was not the time for them to prepare before the commander on the opposite side of the valley ordered the charge. There was a roar rising from the enemy, but it would be futile. Mexico knew that, even with their advantage, they could do little more than wound Iturbide's army.

Still, the sight was exciting. From where he sat, still holding back, he could hear the yells of chaos. He glanced over at his general, who was watching with an expression of careful consideration. There was no victory in his face, not yet. Mexico understood it. They had come close before, but victory had eluded them thus far. But, there was no sign that the loyalist force was going to push back. As he watched, Mexico noticed that the loyalist forces were shifting south. This was a careful retreat, but a retreat all the same.

Mexico spoke, the excitement that overrode his caution seeping into his voice, "It looks like they aren't holding their ground." The other nodded, and allowed himself to smile.  
The shadow of the young soldier in his face, he said, "They're not retreating quickly enough."  
He turned directly to Mexico and added, "Let's go route them."

It was exactly what Mexico wanted to hear. He leaned forward, ready to ride into the fray. He could feel his pulse pounding through his veins. It was still compelling, but Mexico knew how to control it. He would not leap until he had the orders. He waited until he heard the official order to dig his spurs into the flanks of his horse. The charge had become no less exhilarating than it was the first time. In one smooth motion, he drew his sword with his right hand. He still had a firm hold on his reigns with the other hand as the horse leaped forward. This one was more docile than his original mount, but it could leap into battle like a true war horse.

It seemed that within moments he was in the midst of the battle, steel flashing and bullets flying. But, this lacked the order of the usual battle. Their enemy had not had time to draw up battle formations, and those who were fighting were doing it without a unified strategy. But, from somewhere in the chaos, Mexico could hear a voice calling frantically for order. He knew the voice and recognized the feeling it sent up his spine.

He turned his horse in the direction of it, certain who he would find at the end. Expediting his passage, he spurred his horse to jump over a body of a fallen soldier. Mexico found himself drawing closer and closer to the Spanish standard. It made a grudging amount of sense.

The fighting in front of him cleared for a moment, leaving a gap filled with swirling dust. Iturbide was astride a handsome brown war horse with his subordinates on both sides of him, ready to fend off any attack. Mexico could attempt to cut them down, but there wasn't a point. He was not about to kill a man as valuable as Iturbide. The mortal man turned his head and, as he had many times before, caught Mexico's eyes. Since they had met in person, the sensation of destiny was lessened.

He remembered the offer that the man had made him by letter. Mexico knew the man was important, and he was not about to jeopardize that. The same thought seemed to occur to the mortal. He ordered his protectors away, though they did not go far. Then, he turned directly towards his country and, with a quizzical smile, raised both arms and presented his chest. With a jolt, Mexico realized what Iturbide was doing.

If he wanted to, Mexico could draw his pistol and shoot the man off his horse with no resistance. It was precisely what he had promised in the letter. With this show of bravado, he was offering his life. Mexico couldn't help but be impressed. It would have been easier for him to run or to fall back on the protection around him. But, he stood by what he had promised. To show that he was not about to take up the offer, Mexico slid his saber into its sheath.

Though they did not speak and battle raged around them, understanding passed between them. Iturbide's expression shifted to a confident smile that raised goosebumps on Mexico's skin. Mexico took a deep breath as the feeling hit him,The light of the sun was caught behind the mortal again, and Mexico was reminded vividly of what he had seen and felt when their skin had touched. It filled him with an unshakable certainty that Iturbide would be instrumental in his independence.

Only the smell of gunpowder reminded him that there was still a battle happening. The mortal saluted him, and turned his horse. With one more glanced, he disappeared. Mexico let out the breath he had been holding, drew his saber and turned back to the action.

Once the action had ended, Mexico found Guerrero at the tent that Iturbide had been forced to abandon. He looked completely unharmed and the glow of victory gave him an amazing vivacity. When Mexico dismounted, he immediately found the man looking over what Iturbide had left behind. Mexico spoke, "That couldn't have gone better."  
The other turned to him with a look of amusement, "For now. We'll see what Iturbide does next."

He continued to glance around, looking for anything that would give him insight into Iturbide's attention. Guerrero was preparing for another battle as though they were enemies until action proved otherwise. From what Mexico could see, the man had left very little behind. He was undoubtedly aware of how the insurgency had used breifs and letters to ambush loyalist garrisons. He had left only finery, which had little use to the insurgency. Mexico glanced around, seeking for a glimpse of the man through his belongings. The ostentation of the furnishings were gaudy for an officer. They reminded Mexico powerfully of the court that he had left several years ago. There was a strange pang in the pit of the stomach.

His attention was drawn away by something that was sitting on one of the tables that caught the other's eye. He turned and picked up a piece of parchment that seemed too conspicuous. Mexico suspected that whatever this was, Iturbide had left it with the intention it be found. It was too careful to be a mistake and Mexico couldn't shake the feeling that the parchment had been left for him. Guerrero opened the letter and, as he skimmed it, his eyes widened. Mexico's curiosity was piqued by the expression on the man's face passed from disgust to bewilderment.

When he finished reading, Mexico couldn't restrain himself; he asked, "What is it." The man fixed his eyes directly on him and he could read frustration in his dark eyes.  
Offering no explanation, he extended the letter to him, saying only, "Tell me what you make of this." The harsh edge on the words left Mexico with the impression that he had already made up his mind. But, Mexico took the letter all the same. He could not fight the urge to know what Iturbide thought important enough to leave behind.

He turned the parchment over to look at the seal to know who had written it. The red wax was shattered and the parchment was torn next to it, like the person who had opened it had done so with incredible force. It was impossible to tell what the seal had been when it was whole. But, it became completely superfluous when he opened the letter and immediately recognized the handwriting. Though Spain's writing was messier than usual, more frantic, it was very familiar.

The words were clipped and official, but there was an undertone of desperation. After listing the titles he was returning to Iturbide in the most diplomatic terms possible, but offering no apology for the original dismissal, the emotion became clearer. It read, "I am returning your positions to you and giving you command of my army with the expectation that you hunt the insurgency. I expect a swift victory. I am providing you the opportunity and the numbers; you have the ability to end this farce and you may be the only one. Keep whatever plunder you take along the way. I do not care what you take for yourself; all I require is that you return Alejandro to me as unharmed as possible. As for his general, I do not care if he is dead or alive, but I require him as well. I will need to make an example to discourage any further insurrection. Do what you will to the rest of the rebels. I am giving you far more discretion now than I did before. I do this expecting that you will soon bring Alejandro to me."

Mexico didn't need to read further. He knew that the rest would only be demands and conditions. Spain, though he was desperate, was not above putting conditions and demands on this tentative return of trust. Mexico smirked to himself. Spain obviously had no idea about the communication between Iturbide and Mexico. He greatly underestimated how deeply he had wounded Iturbide's pride if he thought a restoration and nothing more would cure it. It was also cowardly to send this information in a letter instead of summoning the man back to the capital. Spain's pride would not bend enough to admit his mistake in person.

Mexico tapped his finger against the back of the letter, contemplating the reason for it. Iturbide did not leave this crucial letter just to demonstrate that Spain had not done enough to appease him. Though that did explain why he was not in earnest in his campaign, there was no information Iturbide hadn't already conveyed in letters. Then it occured to him that that was the reason. In leaving the letter that reinstated him, Iturbide demonstrated that he was being honest. Spain had promised him nothing that he hadn't already disclosed. Mexico said, still looking at the letter, "He wants us to trust him. The offer is what he said it was."  
He glanced back up at the other, who had been waiting for his reaction. Then, with a sigh of frustration, Guerrero said, "I don't have the time for his games!"

He pushed his sword back into the scabbard with a huff like an angered bull. Mexico replied sharply, "At least it's not duplicity. He's not pitting our offer against Antonio's." The response came quick and as sharp as steel, "Is that your standard for loyalty?" Mexico recoiled. The words hurt, partially because he understood them. He was not trying to measure the loyalty of one man against the other. His certainty of Iturbide's intentions didn't come from his belief that the man was a patriot. Iturbide was proud and that pride was wounded, and Mexico counted on that to keep him far from Spain.

He said, saying the only thing that could placate the man, "I don't think he's loyal. I think he's useful; we don't have another option." He expected another retort to reproach him for his equivocation. It seemed trivial that they were bickering about this now of all times. They had just won a victory, and yet this thorn was still proving decisive. The same thought seemed to occur to the mortal.  
The will to fight faded out of his eyes and he turned away, saying as he did so, "You're right."

Tersely, he added, "We should camp here tonight and take stock of what we have won." Mexico nodded; not bothering to comment on the change of subject. He would rather not fight over Iturbide. But, the new subject offered very little to discuss. It was close to being a command, and Mexico had no objection to it. He let the silence laps before, without another word, Guerrero walked out with the pretense of giving the orders to set camp for the night.

Later in the night, Mexico found the mortal again over dinner. He had been ruminating on the earlier conversation for the past couple hours. It was not in his nature to apologize, but he felt the urge to set things right. The last thing he needed was discord between himself and his general, especially now. It was unusual for either of them to be solitary at night anyway. Mexico felt uncomfortable being alone when it was usual for him to dine with his general and spend the night planning the actions of the next day.

So, steeling his resolve to be at least partially contrite, Mexico found his way to Guerrero's tent. Upon walking in, he immediately took note of the fact that Guerrero had not balked at the idea of taking some of Iturbide's furnishings. The table he was using looked suspiciously like the one Iturbide had left his letter on. The chairs were also new, and the thought brought a smile to Mexico's face. Their cause was not too ideological or moral to refuse plunder. He walked in without an invitation, but did not sit without one; his presumption only went so far.

Guerrero looked up at him as soon as Mexico entered the tent. Mexico half expected to be reprimanded again, but a quick smile flashed the mortal's face. He said, gesturing to the empty seat across from him, "I'm glad you're here. Dine with me. We have to discuss our strategy for tomorrow."

Mexico accepted the change in tone, though it still seemed forced. The question of Iturbide still hung in the air, ominous and unanswered. He sat, taking food as a pretense. In truth, he had already eaten, but it served as enough of an excuse to be here. He said, taking the subject as a cue, "Well, Iturbide will probably want to avenge his losses. If we want to stay a step ahead of him, we should move tomorrow. Disappearing again will give Iturbide time to consider his options, and if he doesn't decide, we'll hit him again."

The words were meant to sound confident, but the had the sound of common sense. Mexico knew he was not saying anything they had both already thought of. The strategy from the beginning had been to strike when the enemy force was weak and disappear into the terrain that they knew better. This conversation felt unnecessarily tedious, like it existed only for the sake of itself. There was another thought that had been bothering Mexico since earlier in the day. He had been considering why the mortal had reacted to Spain's letter with anger. It was not the fear of his own mortality; the threats were not new. Spain had spat more venom in letters directly to both of them. Mexico had landed on a single thought, one that was alarmingly simple.

With little hesitation, he asked, "Are you still worried that he will choose Spain's cause?" The other man sighed and pushed away his plate, apparently having lost interest in it. He had the air of a man who's charade had just been shattered.  
He said, his voice sounding far more genuine, "I can't trust him entirely." He paused as he contemplated his words. As he did so, he fidgeted with his knife. Mexico allowed it; he needed an explanation so that he could remove the anxiety. Finally, Guerrero continued, "We are on a precarious edge right now and we are relying on a man who is unreliable. If he decides against us, I can only protect you for so long. You read the letter. You know how much Spain is offering him."

Once he finished speaking, his hands settled into tense fists on the table. Mexico responded, "Yes, I read the letter, and that is why I am certain Iturbide will not turn back. Antonio did not apologize for labeling him a brigand, and that was what hurt Iturbide the most. Tony never could admit when he was wrong, and he will lose this war because of it." The other nodded slowly, but did not immediately respond. Mexico took it as a good sign. A retort would have come quickly; agreement could take time.

He looked around while he waited for a response, taking in the comfortable night and the pleasant surroundings. Whatever happened the next day, with the tension between them relieved, the night was incredibly pleasing. The day had been hot and bright, but the night had cooled to only warm. The mortal spoke, his eyes on Mexico, "All our speculation is irrelevant anyway. He has the numbers to crush us and he hasn't yet; we should consider that enough."  
Mexico added, "And we have won a victory; that is also good."

A warm, genuine smile spread across his face. Mexico felt it in his own chest, warming him. There was levity in Guerrero's voice when he said, "Yes, we have. It won't be the last either. We may not be able to defeat him for good, but we can make him bleed." Mexico liked the man like this, confident and certain in his course. There was something about the brash, unrefined soldier that never faded away and which Mexico couldn't help but find exceedingly charming. He found himself looking at the man, enjoying the look of bloodlust in his eyes. Only once a couple minutes of silence had lapsed, Mexico said, "We won't have to defeat him. I'm certain of it."

Mexico stopped speaking for a moment and America was not certain of the reason. He wondered if he should ask why, but his lover spoke again, "I was right, of course. I had the measure of Augustin."

America was confused. He could hear a hesitation in Mexico's voice, like he was about to admit that he was wrong. But, that was not what the words seemed to indicate. Not one to hold his tongue, America asked, "Then why do you sound so unhappy about it?"

Mexico scoffed and fixed his eyes on his lover. Before he spoke again, he walked back over to the bed and sat right next to America. Mexico ran one hand softly up America's leg, and the blonde could not see how this was an answer. He would not complain, even if he thought this was a distraction. But, his eyes still fixed on America's own, Mexico said, "Independence is a complicated thing. We both know it. You spend so much time plotting about how you're going to get free and you don't think about what you're going to do when you get there."

America leaned closer, still feeling the touch of Mexico's fingertips on his leg like fire. He was so close that he could almost taste the other's lips. But, he elected instead to say, "That didn't answer my question, Alex."

He could see Mexico's eyes roll and he immediately regretted asking. The hand that had been so tantalizing disappeared and America let out a slight groan. Mexico said playfully, "Well, if you are so eager to know what happened next, I'll tell you." He continued, "It was much the same for the next month. Augstin pretended to chase us, while he wrote letters incessantly to Vincente. We attacked and retreated as necessary. I will not bore you with it; it was tedious enough to live it." He let out a slight chuckle, "I was watching two men court each other. I would not interfear and force them together, even if there were moments when I wanted to."

America let out a short laugh, "You make them sound like a bickering couple." Mexico smirked, "Well, that was how it felt. Eventually, Augstin exhausted his options and decided to send his entire plan to Vicente."

Mexico was sitting in his tent, thinking about his meeting with Iturbide. It was still puzzling that he had felt such a strong pull towards the man, and yet nothing had come of it yet. Waiting for something that seemed so inevitable was getting draining. He heard familiar footsteps outside of the tent and immediately knew what they meant. Iturbide had sent another letter and Guerrero was going to tell him what it said. It was no longer an exciting prospect to hear what the letters said; it was fairly predictable.

As the mortal entered the tent, Mexico smiled at him and said, "Another letter from Iturbide?" He didn't actually need to ask. There was nothing else that qualified as news.  
The other replied, the look on his face betraying excitment, "Yes, but this one is different."

Mexico was intrigued, less by the words than by the look on his face. It looked like more definite progress than they had had in months. He responded as the other sat across from him and pull out an unusually thick looking letter, "This time he has actually sent me a solid proposition." Now he had Mexico's complete attention. When they had met so many months ago, Iturbide had told him of one plan for independence, but that was definitely not what he would propose to Guerrero.

So, the contents of the letter were a mystery to him. He said, not bothering to hide his curiosity, "What did he say?" The other unfolded the letter with a deliberate flourish that made Mexico smile. This must be important if Guerrero was resorting to such dramatics.  
The man started paraphrasing the letter as he ran his finger down it, "The first part was usual. He congratulates me on my cunning. Then he says that he regrets that there has been conflicts between us."  
Mexico smirked. He had heard that before, it seemed to be Iturbide's way of saving face. He commented, "It's easy to regret them when he keeps losing."

The mortal gave him an encouraging smile before continuing, "But, this is where it gets interesting. Instead of assuring me that he is a patriot and wants independence as he usually does, he laments that we have yet to reach an understanding." His smile widened and Mexico knew that he was reaching the most important part of the letter. He continued, "And here he explains that I have left him no choice but for us to meet and negotiate the terms of the independence as he sees that we both passionately desire independence."

Overcome with his own enthusiasm, he slammed his hand down on the table, "We finally have him!" It could not have been better news and Guerrero's enthusiasm was infectious. For all of Iturbide's words, there were finally actions. Just as Mexico was certain there would be with time. He couldn't help but feel incredibly vindicated.

He responded with the only question of pragmatism that could possibly be pertinent, "Did he specify where you are going to meet."  
Guerrero glanced at the letter, "Acatempán." Mexico nodded. The place was familiar and close, which seemed to indicate that Iturbide knew where they were, but had not acted on it.  
He replied, "That is close and to our advantage."

This fact elicited a nod and another excited smile, "He's in earnest this time."  
Mexico couldn't help himself; he said, "I told you he would yield eventually." It was impossible for him to not feel smug that he was right about Iturbide, and always had been. He had the distinct feeling that this was more than just another step. This was monumental. The mortal pushed away the letter, paying no mind to the rest, which was probably full of flattery and matters of protocol. He had clearly already read the letter several times, wondering if it was real. Mexico's own heart was pounding as it had when the insurgency had began. After so long, so many years, he felt a familiar optimism. It felt like a real glimpse of an end. Iturbide could bring his entire army to their side and turn them against Spain, then the odds would be heavily in Mexico's favor for the first time. He was certain that the ripples of Iturbide's decision would go further.

The thought was interrupted by the unexpected feeling of a hand against his own. He looked directly at Guerrero, and was surprised by the look he saw in the other's eyes. it was not just one of earnest excitement, there was something there that sent a flash of heat across Mexico's cheeks. The other said, emotion in every word, "I was wrong to ever doubt you."  
Mexico countered, not completely comfortable with the praise, "No, you weren't. You've protected me."

But, his objection was brushed away without even a word. The mortal shook his head once before speaking again, "You did so well with Iturbide; now it's my turn. I will negotiate with him and-" His hand tightened on Mexico's. He could feel the callouses of swordplay and hard work pressing against his own skin. But, Mexico couldn't pull his eyes away from the other's face as the man finished, passion causing his voice to strain, "You will be free. After all these years, you will be free."

The words pierced through him with a staggering clarity. The promise was not empty; it was more plausible than it had ever been. This, the dream he had held onto his entire childhood, was so close to finally coming true. An unusual feeling rose in the back of his throat, thick and heavy. He didn't know what to say, how to thank his friend for persevering for an impossible goal. But, it seemed words were unnecessary as the other lifted Mexico's hand to his lips and kissed it once. It seemed like an odd gesture coming from him. It belonged in some tale of chivalry that had long become outdated. And yet, Mexico felt a tingling in the skin the man's lips had touched. The man added, "I will negotiate with Iturbide and ensure that this is the independence we both fought for."

The sun glinted off of the metal thread of the other army's uniforms and their rifles as the formerly opposing forces stood stock still in the open air of the plain. Iturbide had kept his promise and arrived with his army exactly when they had agreed. Mexico looked beside him at his general, who was adjusting his regalia as though he had not thought to do it that morning. He had not worn such a formal uniform since he had assumed the role. Fighting as a badly outnumbered rebellion, it had not been advisable to be ostentatious. But, to meet Iturbide he had to exaggerate his own status. But, it was clear that he was deeply uncomfortable with it.

A single figure rode forward from the other army. Iturbide was unmistakable. He was dressed in every accessory of his office. The light was blinding off the carefully polished gold epaulets. Mexico couldn't help but see a man who was trying to project his own importance and majesty. But, he also couldn't deny that it was effective. Out of the corner of his eye, Mexico saw Guerrero straighten his back. He leaned over and said, quietly enough so that he could not be overheard, "Don't let him try to intimidate him. You are his equal, blood be damned."

The mortal nodded before digging his spurs into the side of his horse. Mexico felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched the two ride towards each other. They reached a midpoint between both armies that gave neither an advantage and stopped to dismount. It was surprising to see how very different the two were. It had not been apparent until they stood right next to each other. Guerrero was taller and much darker. He retained, even with his promotion, rugged and unrefined. He looked even more so standing next to Iturbide, who was slighter. Iturbide was imposing in his own right, but he was shorter and fairer. He had the indisputable nose of a creole and bright piercing eyes. Guerrero's hair, already tousled, was caught by the wind and became far more disordered. It was in such strong contrast to the meticulous order of the other's appearance.

Mexico found himself marveling at how magnetic they both seemed, wildly different, but joined in a common cause like two opposing parts of himself finally brought together. They took the measure of each other before Iturbide wordlessly extended his hand to Guerrero. It was a sign of trust and camaraderie. The other took the hand.

Mexico felt himself let out a nervous breath he had not noticed he had been holding. He expected nothing more. The men had been enemies and this sign of friendship was enough. But, as Mexico watched, their eyes met and they pulled each other into an embrace. From this distance, he could not tell who had initiated it, but his heart jumped at the sight.

He felt himself smile in the most sublime triumph. He could taste it on his tongue and feel it in his guts. This was his victory, completely unobscured by a continued loyalist threat. The thought crossed his mind of how Spain would react when he got news of this. That was enough for Mexico to smirk to himself. Soon Spain would know that his dominion was ending.


	54. Chapter 54

Mexico could feel the tension as Guerrero returned to his side. It did little to lessen his enthusiasm for this moment. The source of the feeling seemed obvious to him. It would be unreasonable to expect Guerrero to be moved so suddenly. He would maintain careful distance from Iturbide, even now, and it would be for the better. This was a negotiation for the end of the independence, and Mexico would rather his friend maintain his unyielding ideals than be charmed by Iturbide. He spoke, his voice low so that they were not overheard, "I didn't expect you to embrace him."

He was smirking though. The gesture of loyalty would say much to Spain. He would know that he could no longer expect the loyalty of the creole class. Guerrero gave him a look of strange satisfaction. Then he said, "I decided that you were right. We're not going to make progress unless I'm willing to look the snake in the eyes. So, I am going to be friendly with him for your sake."

Mexico's smile didn't slip. He had hoped for more, but suspected as much. Instead, he said, "I do not expect you to completely trust him. It is enough that you are willing to work with him."  
The other fixed his eyes on his country again and said, "I do not trust him, but I trust you. And you are certain that he is the key."

Mexico only nodded. They were only affirming what they already knew. In the silence, the mortal changed the subject, "I'm glad that you will be by my side." Mexico nodded. Though, in truth, he would likely be neutral. He had profoundly deep feelings for both men, and choosing one over the other seemed unnecessary at this time. He was determined to speak for the plan of action that he thought best for himself. But he dared not voice any of these thoughts now. Guerrero needed his confidence to face Iturbide.

The place chosen for the negotiations was a spacious room in a mansion in the town. There was enough space around the table for both men to bring a few of their personal guards. Mexico sighed to himself. He did not really expect shows of trust this early, but it would have been nice. Mexico chose to sit directly between his general and the man he had recruited to his cause.

He could feel Iturbide's eyes on him as soon as he walked into the room. The man was standing on the other side of the room, not yet seated. He did not look at Guerrero at first. Instead, he inclined his head to Mexico and said, "It is good to see you again." Mexico didn't even need to look at Guerrero to know that he was glaring at Iturbide. But, these negotiations were for his independence, so he needed them to speak to each other. So he responded, "It is my future. It is appropriate that I should be here."

He knew his answer was diplomatic, but he flashed the man a smile that he then saw mirrored on the other's face. Mexico intended to be warmer to Iturbide now than he had been initially. Now he had committed to Mexico's cause and his motive mattered little now. He knew his general would not like it, but he knew it was necessary.

As he expected, Guerrero cleared his throat with a sense of irritation. Mexico turned his gaze back to Guerrero. He gave him a look of encouragement to cool his ire. It was enough. Guerrero turned his attention back to Iturbide and said, "Enough small talk. Let's get to business."

He sat in the chair at one end of the table and Iturbide did the same. Mexico settled himself comfortably between them. The position afforded him the ability to look from one to the other. Iturbide spoke, taking out a document as he did so and placing it on the table, "Very well. You must know that the independence will not succeed unless you have the support of all parts of society. You have done very well thus far, and I commend you for that. But, I have put together a plan to completely deprive the royalist cause of support."

He pushed the document across the table towards Guerrero. The other looked down at it like it was something poisonous. Iturbide saw the look and seemed to decide to explain instead, "I suggest we make this country an independent monarchy." He glanced at Mexico in an attempt to gauge his reaction. The country was not offended by the idea of being a monarchy. Both of his parents had been empires with hereditary rulership, and he remembered that monarchs could be dealt with.

But, he did have a reason to object though it was more sentimental than practical. It had been Morelos's dearest ambition to create an elected republic. Throwing away that possibility seemed disingenuous to his memory. Guerrero seemed to have the same idea. He said sharply, "Only if it is constitutional and bound by an elected assembly. Otherwise there is no way to ensure the rights of those who have been ill-treated by the Spanish."

Mexico felt himself smile. The man was doing so well. When he looked at Guerrero, he could see how intimidating the man could be with the weight of his belief behind him. Guerrero continued, "Monarchs can be fickle and the rights of the people should not be subject to that."

Mexico appreciated the sense of compromise. He had certainly not expected it, as he knew Guerrero was not a monarchist. Mexico said, deciding that he should be the deciding voice in this conversation, "I agree with Vicente. A representative government is necessary." Both of the mortals looked at him like they had not expected him to intervene this early. But, Mexico did not care. He was not about to sit silently and let the dream of a man that had fought for him die.

He saw the look on Iturbide's face and it was one of slight irritation. But, when he spoke, his tone was one of forced neutrality, "The importance is that we provide a monarch for those who cleave to Spain for that reason. But, we can also provide for a Congress." The proposition was agreeable enough and Guerrero nodded. Iturbide turned the conversation after his concession, "The church cannot be touched. Roman Catholicism must remain the faith of the country."

This was not surprising. There had never been an anti-religious intention in the independence movement. The first flag of the independence had been a religious one. Guerrero confirmed this when he said, "It was never my intention to change the faith of this country."

But, Mexico had his own objection to this. So, he interjected, "But, the Inquisition must not remain. That is Spain's tool and I will not remain subject to him." He heard the vitriol in his own voice. The anger he felt at Spain had not faded with the years.  
Iturbide replied, "That shouldn't be a problem. It has been in disarray since the French invasion."

Mexico nodded and let the other two lapse back into negotiations. He glanced at Guerrero, urging the man to speak for what was dearest to him. The man caught his eyes and he felt a warmth spreading in his chest. They shared a look before Guerrero turned his attention back to Iturbide, who was tapping his finger against the table. Mexico's general said, "This is my demand: Equal legal rights for everyone regardless of blood. You will not transfer the privilege of peninsular Spaniards to your own class."

His words were cutting, but the concern was valid. Mexico saw Iturbide recoil. It was a subtle gesture, but Mexico took note of it. So, the man did seek privilege for himself and his class. He could have guessed as much from Iturbide's decisions thus far. It would only become a problem if this became a point of contention between the two.

Iturbide was less cavalier in his response to this. He said, choosing his words carefully, "You should be careful. There is a way to get rid of qualifications of race and not alienate the upper classes. They do not like the idea of being stripped of their rights and property."  
The other scoffed, "Spoken like a true creole. You do not get to dictate to me like I am your subordinate."

This was an anger that Mexico knew. He had seen it very rarely outside of battle. He glanced at Iturbide to see how the man took the reproach. Surprisingly, he had a small on his face, "You mistake my intentions. I have nothing but respect for you and what you have done. I am reminding you of what is necessary for a bloodless independence. If we can appease every class except the Spanish, then both of us may never have to fight another battle."

His tone was cool and surprisingly charming. It was an interesting tactic to meet Guerrero's anger with a cool, level compliment. Mexico couldn't help but admire the rhetoric; it was clever and he could see the way that it unbalanced Guerrero. The man fell uncharacteristically silent and Iturbide took the silence as an opportunity and continued speaking, "I believe the racial system is antiquated and I fully support its abolition. I am cautioning you against radical action against the upper classes. Nothing would more decisively continue this war."

His point was a good one, but Mexico doubted the sincerity of it. There was something in the familiar artificiality of his voice that Mexico knew. But, he held his tongue. If Guerrero found the point convincing, then that was enough to move forward. That was the point, he reminded himself. From the very beginning, he had desired independence above all and now it was so close that he need only sit back and let it happen. But, his protective urge towards Guerrero urged him to be obstinate and to voice what he felt about Iturbide's intentions. He restrained himself. It would not do to say something that would end these negotiations.

He let Guerrero carry the conversation; the mortal spoke, "If I did not trust your intentions, I would not be here. You should also be aware that this war was not fought to enrich anyone." Though the response was guarded, but the man also reached across the table and finally put his hand on the document Iturbide had laid on the table. He spoke again, "I think it would be better for the time being that I read through this tonight, carefully consider your proposal, and presented you with my objections tomorrow."

He presented the words with a certain amount of control, but Mexico could hear the tension beneath it. But, it seemed to be convincing Iturbide. But Mexico deemed it more likely that Iturbide thought the fight would not be worth the effort. Time was not at issue in these negotiations. With Iturbide here, Spain had no force to pursue them with. It was likely that he would know within a few days where Mexico was, and it was the first time in the last ten years that he would be certain. And, for the first time, Mexico did not care if Spain knew or not. Iturbide and Guerrero could argue about the specifics for as long as they needed to; it would not matter.

He knew what Guerrero was doing as well. He wanted to have the time to regroup and order his arguments against Iturbide, as well as taking an inventory of what Iturbide was offering. Guerrero stood up, tucking the document under his arm. He looked directly at Mexico and there was no need for him to speak. Mexico rose to his feet as well, and he was distinctly aware that Iturbide was staring at him. He wished for a fleeting moment that he could stay and discuss politics with Iturbide alone. He would be interested to hear what Iturbide's vision was for the independence, but it would be a betrayal to make his friend leave alone and he was not willing to do it. So, he ignored the pining gaze and followed the other out of the room.

As soon as he was out of Iturbide's earshot, Guerrero let out a long sigh, "That's worse than battle." He ran a hand through his hair, which made it more disordered than usual. Mexico countered, "I thought you were impressive. You're not letting him run you over." The man flashed him a smile, but his face fell again.  
When he spoke, it was clear that he still doubted himself, "It felt like I did."

He was walking quickly, but Mexico was keeping pace with him and attempting to read his emotions. The man was agitated, but it seemed that it was unwarranted. Aside from the last exchange, the man had navigated politics admirably thus far. Guerrero continues, "I know what I believe. But-"  
Mexico took a swift step in front of the mortal and cut him off, "That is enough. More than enough."

Guerrero was forced to stop on his heel and look down at his country. While he had the man's undivided attention, Mexico said, "I have seen more politicians than you can imagine in my lifetime. None of them have your passion." The man opened his mouth to object and Mexico continued, "You know what you fought for. No one prepared you to be a general either, but you took that in stride. Do what you have always done and speak for what you believe. Believe in me like you always have."

Mexico could feel heat rising in his chest as he spoke. He was earnest about every word. He had meant this to just be encouragement, but the feelings had bubbled up and spilled out. When he finished speaking, it dawned on him how much he had said without meaning to do so. For a moment, he thought that the mortal might pull away from him.

But, like so many times before, Guerrero looked at him unflinchingly and replied, "You are right. We have faced the unknown before. Iturbide is a new kind of beast for me, but not one I can't deal with."

Mexico stepped aside to allow his general to continue walking. He was sure that the man's goal was their camp, where he could be surrounded by the army that gave him the strength to negotiate. As he did so, Mexico replied, "He isn't new to me." He need not elaborate. He had made his history in politics perfectly clear, and he thought the man understood.  
Resuming his brisk pace, Guerrero said, "Yes, and I am glad you can read him. Tell me: did he lie to me about anything today? I thought he was sincere, but he is cunning."

The question was a difficult one, and Mexico chose the answer that was least likely to drive a division between his leaders, "He did not lie about anything. But, he was not entirely sincere. The monarchy is his strongest demand, but the question of rights is the most difficult one. He does want to protect his own privileges as a creole." He stopped just short of saying that he thought Iturbide would be happy to leave the hierarchies of blood as they were. He was not certain and he knew the statement would drive his friend away.

There was a moment of silence where he pondered whether he had said too much. But, Guerrero replied, "Well, I suspected as much. I never took him for a monarchist, but he is right on that point." Mexico fell into step with the other and nodded silently as the other continued speaking, "I will have to read his entire proposal, but I suspect I have heard the most important points already. He undoubtedly thinks my resolve will soften over night, and I will make sure it does not."  
Mexico quipped, "If he thinks that, then he does not know you very well."

They reached the building that they had taken as a headquarters for the negotiation, still at a distance from Iturbide's own quarters in one of the city palaces. Guerrero, who was walking slightly in front, pushed it open and held it for Mexico. Once inside, it was easy to find the way back to Guerrero's chambers. The man placed the document from Iturbide on a table and walked away from it and then settled himself in a chair with a long breath. Apparently, he had no intention of reading the plan until later.

Mexico turned to a carafe of wine and poured two glasses. He took one of the glasses for himself and handed the other to Guerrero when he turned back around again. There was a question in the man's eyes, but Mexico answered it, "Despite the disputes over method, we do have reason to celebrate. Iturbide is at the table negotiating for our cause because you were too strong and stubborn to fail." He intended the words as a toast to the moment, which Mexico had hoped for for ten years.  
Guerrero cut in, "You brought him here as much as I did. I would not have gotten this far without your wit." He lifted his glass and said with a charming smile, "So here is to your future."

The praise was welcome, but Mexico heard a worrying undertone. He corrected it, "You mean our future. I remember you once telling me that you would only leave me when you died."  
The man smiled again, but the look faltered. He took a small drink of wine before replying, "And I still mean it. It is strange to me to think of myself as a civilian."

Mexico understood what the man had not said, and he felt it as well. Though the last decade he had spent at war was a comparatively small portion of his life, Mexico felt like it had consumed and changed him. To a mortal man, it must seem that his entire life had been battle. The concept that peace may be just over the horizon left the man on unfamiliar ground. Mexico knew the uncertainty. It was only his confidence that kept him from viewing the concept of independence with trepidation. He was perfectly aware that he had never been on his own, but the concept was more exciting than frightening. Mexico had been born for this and he took great pride in the thought that he might soon be what his parents had envisioned for him. But, he spoke to soothe the mortal's anxiety, "Regardless of what comes next, there will always be a place for you with me. If there is to be a king, then you will still be my general."  
Guerrero did not respond at once. He took another drink of wine before he said, "I would like that, I think."

Mexico was about to respond when there was a sound of a hard knock on the door. A flash of irritation passed over Guerrero's face, like he had been interrupted in the midst of something important. But, a sense of duty quickly replaced it and called out, "Who is there?" It was obvious that he had expected no visitor until later in the night.  
The answer came, "A messenger from Augustin de Iturbide."

The mortal raised one eyebrow in a look of skepticism. He said, low enough so that the man on the other side of door, "That was far quicker than I imagined. He is insatiable." Then, in a louder voice said, "Enter."

He rose to his feet to project an air of power. The door opened and the man stepped in. He walked with clear purpose past Guerrero, who turned to look after him. The interloper came to a stop in front of Mexico and, bowing his head, offered him a piece of paper that bore the now familiar handwriting of Iturbide. Slightly perplexed, he took the letter. It would be easier to take it and know what it said than to snub it. The silence was broken by a growl, "If you have no message for me, then leave my chambers."

Iturbide's messenger flinched before scurrying away. Mexico did not yet open the letter; instead he weighed it in his hand. The thought crossed his mind that the messenger may have been the same one that had brought him the first letter from Iturbide. But the other's voice cut through his thoughts, "You might as well open it."

Mexico nodded and unfolded the paper. It would be dishonest to say the letter did not intrigue him. But, to dismiss any suspicion, he read the letter aloud, "Alejandro, I would like to extend the invitation to you to join me for dinner tonight. Your presence would be an honor. I would like to have the opportunity to speak with you again." Mexico stopped reading. Guerrero let out a sigh, but did not speak. His disapproval was etched in the lines of his face.

Mexico said, replying to what the man had not said, "If you do not want me to accept, I won't."  
Guerrero's jaw was set as he said, "No. He needs to know that we trust him. And it would give you a chance to hear what he does not dare say in front of me." He swallowed more words and a look passed over his face like they were something terribly bitter. Mexico suspected what they were and why Guerrero dare not speak them.  
He said, turning the parchment of the letter in his hands, "I will be guarded." The other nodded stiffly and looked away.  
_____________________________________________________________

When Mexico stepped through the door he felt like he had taken a step into the past. He had not seen such extravagance since he had left Madrid, and for a moment a strange sense of nostalgia struck him. It had not occurred to him how long it had been since he had been treated to luxury. It felt odd, almost like he missed Spain. But, his attention to the thought was only momentary. In the moment it would be dangerous to let his mind wander when he had promised that he would be guarded. But, he had to admit that he was impressed by the display.

As Mexico entered the room, Iturbide rose to his feet. The look on his face was one of triumph, though it seemed premature. He spoke, "I'm glad you came. I thought that you might refuse my offer." His smile was charming, and Mexico wished that the effect the man had on him was not so strong.  
Mexico replied, "I thought it sounded intriguing."

He sat in the chair that had clearly been intended for him. There was already a place set for him, which made him doubt that Iturbide had really doubted this meeting would occur. But he allowed it as a kind of flattery. He continued to speak once he was seated, "We have so rarely spoken."

The man sat again and spoke as he poured a glass of wine and placed it in front of Mexico, "I had hoped we could speak again, now that there is no enmity between us. I have made it clear that I am on your side. I could not return to the capital even if I wanted to."  
Mexico leaned towards him, placing his elbow on the table, "If I distrusted you, I would have killed you when you gave me the chance."

Mexico had little patience for protestations of loyalty now. He was convinced already and further discussing it seemed to be superfluous. Instead, he shifted the topic, "But, I did not come here to discuss your loyalty. I would rather hear about your vision for the future." This would be the best way to get the measure for the man. While he waited for Iturbide to respond, he took a sip of the wine.

It was expensive wine, but there was another note beneath the taste, one that he remembered. Speaking more to himself than to Iturbide, he noted, "Castilian wine. It has been a while."  
The mortal smiled, "I thought you might like something familiar."

Mexico looked at the depths of the red liquid and tried to remember the last time he had tasted Spanish wine. It must have been when he was still in Madrid. He had not expecting to feel so strongly about a single glass of wine. To calm the feeling, he took a deep drink and turned his attention back to his companion, who said, "I suspect you are used to finer things than you have been treated to on the campaign trail." He wasn't wrong, and Mexico was aware of it. He had been used to the luxury of an empire.

And yet, the thought seemed to belong to another time. When he had been with Guerrero moving from town to town, he had not missed the extravagance of court. But, now that he was surrounded by it again, he realized that it was comfortable. He replied to Iturbide after a momentary pause, "You are correct. I did not realize how much I missed it."

This was not the conversation he had meant to have, and he was slowly realizing that Iturbide had subtly managed to knock him on his heels. The mortal spoke again, "This isn't much. When we get back to the capital, I will really threat you." Then he took a deep drink of wine. Mexico smiled as the intoxicating feeling of victory washed over him. It was not a question of if he would return to his capital, which had been his mother's seat of power, but a question of when.

And it was to this point that Mexico was able to return, "That should be soon, if you can agree with Vicente." Iturbide leaned forward in his seat, his eyes meeting Mexico's. There was movement in the periphery of Mexico's vision as someone else served the food.  
But, he couldn't bother to notice it as Iturbide spoke again, "You heard my proposal in full today. I have ensured that we have the smoothest transition to independence. I am proposing nothing for my own sake."  
Mexico countered, though he saw the sense in what Iturbide had said, "But you must also understand that Vicente is a republican."  
The other said, "I do not see why a constitutional monarchy would not serve both of our purposes. I am certain that your ambition is independence."

Again, Mexico could not necessarily disagree. But, he would not let Iturbide know that he was not in complete agreement with Guerrero. It would be perilous to undermine the appearance that they were a unified front. As he searched for an answer, Iturbide spoke again, "But, I do not intend to spend the night discussing politics. There is time enough for that. I want to know you."

Mexico knew he should fight the urge to be flattered, but he couldn't help it. He felt himself smirk as Iturbide leaned further towards him and said, "I have a powerful desire to know you." Mexico knew he should keep his defenses up, but the urge to do so was fading.  
He said, "Well, you have me here."

He leaned back and took another drink of wine before finally deciding to stop ignoring the food. In truth, the actual dinner held the least interest. As Mexico took a bite, Iturbide spoke to him, "Perhaps I owe you something first. I want this to be clear to you: I did not choose your cause for my own gain. I chose you because I feel that you are the better choice. I saw Spain stay in the capital and command from afar. I saw you fighting for yourself." He paused before fixing his eyes directly on Mexico again and saying, "No one deserves a kingdom he will not fight for, especially not when you're capable and willing to fight."

Mexico wanted to believe him, but he had watched Iturbide's actions enough to suspect otherwise. But, when he replied he said, "Age and comfort have made him complacent. It is the luxury of an empire to know they are secure."  
The mortal raised his glass and said, "If you ask me, empire belongs to those who are willing to take it." There was a sly smile on his lips and a shift in his tone as Iturbide said, "You have the temper for it. It's in your blood. Your mother's imprint is strong in you."

Mexico drew in a sharp breath at the words. He said, vocalizing the question that immediately occurred to him, "How do you know that?"  
The answer came immediately with a knowing look, "I noticed the medallion that you wear around your neck. It's Aztec, is it not?" Mexico could feel the necklace, even warm and close to his heart.  
He replied, "Yes."

The other turned the conversation with the skill of a politician, "I should not presume. I have sought to understand you at a distance." Mexico was aware of the rhetoric. Though he knew himself to be completely correct, the feigned modesty kept him from seeming arrogant. He could see through it and understood what Iturbide had said beneath it. The man had spent the time between their meetings finding out about him. That concept alone was enough to warm him toward the man.

He decided to indulge the work though, and he replied, "Well, you are correct thus far. I'm flattered." It was not difficult to catch the self-pleased way the corner of Iturbide's mouth turned up.

Mexico decided to take the initiative, "And from the wine I assume you think I miss Spain."  
The other took a moment before he said, "The place, not the person. I've spoken with Antonio and I would not expect you to miss him."  
Mexico saw an opportunity to catch the man off guard and took it. He said, "Then you are wrong. It has not been easy fighting for years, but I still feel more alive than I ever had. I would never go back, but I do appreciate the wine." He took another drink of wine and waited for the conversation to continue.

Mexico lost track of the time as the night wore on. He found himself strangely comfortable with Iturbide as the formality of politics fell away. As they spoke, Mexico took careful steps towards transparency. Despite what Guerrero thought, Mexico couldn't be moved to see the man as his enemy. The feeling that Iturbide was important egged him onward.

Eventually, he said, when the topic of empire arose again, "My mother wanted me to be an empire. I doubt I will fulfill that ambition, but freedom will be a very good start."

Wine had made Iturbide far more comfortable as well. He had a casual glow about him that was something akin to regal. He took a drink from his almost empty wine glass, before saying, his tone more than contemplative, "Why should that be out of your reach? Anything you want could be possible for you once you are free."  
The words resonated with an old dormant ambition, and Mexico spoke before he could stop himself, "Do you really believe so?"

The other smiled again and Mexico felt effortlessly drawn to it. Iturbide spoke, his manner one of confidence, "I do. You made Spain's empire powerful. I can scarcely imagine what you could do with that power in your own hands." The thought was intoxicating, and Mexico felt his own ambition roar like a hungry beast in his chest. Spain had said so many times that he had been the key to the empire. Why had he never thought of it before? Perhaps it was possible to do more than just throw off Spain. Perhaps Mexico could become an empire in his own right. Then, he would have restored the entirety of what had been stolen from him. The thought, as soon as it occurred, could not be pushed out of his mind.

But as he drained the last of his wine, Mexico realized how late it was. With a sincere sigh, he said, "I should return to my chambers."  
He stood up, and Iturbide did the same. The mortal said, "I am selfish; I would rather keep you here all night. But, we do both have important work to do tomorrow."

He stepped forward and extended his hand to Mexico. The country took the hand with no reservations. Iturbide spoke once more, his eyes fixed on Mexico, "We are vital to each other. I beg you to come back tomorrow night. There is so much more to say."  
Mexico saw no reason to refuse. He said, "I will."


	55. Chapter 55

Mexico walked back still thinking of the idea that Iturbide had planted in his mind. He could be an empire and the thought was tantalizing. He hadn't intended to let Iturbide get under his skin, but that single prospect had pierced deep. It was exactly what his mother had wanted for him, but he had relinquished the idea long ago because of Spain's control. But, now he turned it over again and again in his mind. The title sounded so incredibly sweet, The Mexican Empire. No longer just independence, but complete realization of his potential.

But, there was another side to it that begged to be addressed. How was it to be accomplished? During the negotiations, Iturbide had agreed to a Constitutional monarchy. The two ideas seemed completely contradictory, but perhaps there was a compromise that could be reached. But part of his mind told him that an empire could only be accomplished by abandoning the goal of a republic. It was probably best to say nothing about it to Guerrero; it had not been a real proposal, just a suggestion. Beyond that, Guerrero would take it as disingenuous, and Mexico couldn't risk the independence for something that might only have been a passing statement.

The rest had barely touched on politics, which meant that he would have very little to tell his general. The only moment of substance was too precarious to mention it. When they met again, Mexico would press for more details to tell his general. He reached the door to Guerrero's chambers and hesitated for a moment. It was late and his general was likely already asleep, but it was worth the risk of waking him. Mexico had seen him asleep before on the nights when his guard duty had lasted deep into the night, and it would not be all that different.

But, when he pushed the door open as quietly as he could, he could see the flickering light of a candle. Guerrero was sitting at a table with cards laid out in front of him in a solitary game. But, when he heard the door open, the man turned to look. His spoke, looking at Mexico with a smile, "Alejandro." The sound of his voice, possibly enhanced by the several glasses of wine, softened Mexico. It was not the first time he had ever noticed it, but Guerrero's expression was incredibly endearing in the low light.

Mexico felt himself smile as he walked into the room, saying as he did so, "You stayed up for me." Until this moment, he had not realized how much the wine had gone to his head. It had been a long time since he had good strong wine, but the feeling was not unpleasant. He hadn't been intoxicated like this since he was a colony. But, he was safe and comfortable.  
Guerrero responded flippantly, "Of course. I had to make sure that he didn't steal you."

The look on his face made it clear that he wasn't entirely serious, though the concern was genuine. Mexico sat down across from him and looked at him with a slightly drunken heat rising in his cheeks. What a magnificent turn of events this was. Mexico was on the cusp of independence, whatever form it ended up taking, and he had two talented men competing for his attentions. It was flattering to be the ultimate goal of both of their ambitions. He spoke, his voice coming out strong and uninhibited, "You don't need to worry about that. He isn't that compelling."

He leaned back in the chair, letting some of the stress of the past ten years slip away. The other said, "I am glad to hear that. You were gone longer than I thought you would be." Mexico was hard pressed to figure out where the hours had gone. The time with Iturbide had blurred in discussions of Mexico's experience of the war, his own ambitions. The man had opened the discussion and Mexico had been as honest as possible, and the time had passed. The man had a way of coaxing an answer out of Mexico. But, that was not a worthwhile answer especially when he had promised to keep himself guarded.  
Instead he said, "He's very long winded. I lost track of the time."

It wasn't a lie, just a half truth. Guerrero responded, "I would expect no less of him. He certainly didn't hold back in his proposal. Did you get anything of use out of him?" Mexico suppressed a sigh of frustration as he considered his response. The only new insight he gained he was keeping to himself for now. It was not certain and he was not about to risk the fight over it.  
So, he said, "Not really. He kept avoiding the topic of politics. He wanted to talk to me personally."

He could see the unhappy shadow cross the man's face, but Guerrero did not indicate it when he spoke. He said, sounding careful and restrained, "I had hoped for better. I do not believe his proposal is entirely genuine. I read it while you were gone or tried. He is verbose, more so than I was expecting. From what I can tell, it's exactly what he said. I want to rewrite his section on removing the hierarchies of race." Mexico caught his meaning that he doubted that this was more than show. He was hesitant to trust in a plan that seemed to fulfill all of their goals so well. But it seemed to him that if the plan would bring an acceptable end, then intention barely mattered.

But, Mexico had no desire to fight over Iturbide's intentions tonight. It was late, and he was in a relatively good mood. So, he turned the conversation, "Can I ask you a question, Vicente?" The man looked taken aback at the change of subject, but he nodded nevertheless. Mexico said, finishing his thought, "If you did not have to negotiate with Iturbide, what would you want my future to be?"  
It occurred to him that he had never asked directly what his goals were, though he had a general idea. The corner of the mortal's mouth turned upwards. Guerrero shifted in his chair, leaning forward, before he said, "My priority is lasting liberty. Driving out Spain is only the beginning. If you do not tear down the structures in place, nothing will change. That is what I want, to demolish the walls that divide people according to race." He paused for a moment before continuing, "I would prefer to have a republic, but I accept Iturbide's logic. I will accept a monarchy only if it is limited by a fairly elected Congress. I will not let you fell into despotism again."

He paused again and he looked directly at Mexico. He seemed to hesitate for a moment as his eyes met Mexico's. The man was weighing something that seemed to be highly sensitive. Finally, he said, his gaze firmly fixed on his country, "I do not aspire to anything myself. This was never about my own promotion. I am not Iturbide. But, I cannot imagine being a private citizen."

Mexico could feel far more beneath the words, the same promise Guerrero had made when he became his guard so many years ago. He reached across the table, over the cards that were carefully laid out, and took his general's hand in his own. The touch was enough to make Guerrero say, giving voice to his unspoken thought, "I cannot imagine being away from you after all that we have fought for together."

Mexico felt the usual rush of loyalty, but it was tinged by the guilt of knowing that he was keeping something from the man. He replied with an attempt at wit, "That is best. Who knows what I would do without you?"  
The other gave him an impossibly hard to read look before he said, "Don't give me too much credit."

With a look of regret, he pulled his hand away so that he could stand and retrieve the proposal. Before he was holding it, Mexico could already see the annotations Guerrero had added in the margins. They were written in the man's rough script and were made with obvious haste. The man handed the paper to Mexico, who glanced over it. He could see the way that Guerrero had crossed out sections of the words. In the scrawling, he could already see the conflicts of the next day. But, with this preparation, Guerrero would be prepared to stand his ground. Mexico was slightly disconcerted by the realization that the idea was not as compelling as it had been earlier. Part of him was craving the power that Iturbide had offered.

But, he turned his mind back to the words on the page. Guerrero's handwriting was rough, but readable, and he had chosen to write heavy notes in the margins. They appeared to be mostly notes to himself, but Mexico read them anyway. He reached the third page and the notes in the margins became more uneven. Mexico couldn't help but notice that there were sections left completely untouched. There was no reason to it, even though he searched for some. The gaps became more frequent as he flipped through the pages, and Mexico found himself questioning it. Eventually, he could not hold the thought in anymore, "Did you not read all of this?"

It was the only answer he could reach, though he was not sure why Guerrero would not have read the document. But, then when he looked up at his general he saw a look of pained contemplation. Guerrero wrung his hands for a moment, the look on his face was tearing at Mexico. He didn't understand why the man was so agonized by the question. He said, not yet certain what to say, "Vicente?"  
The man finally said, stilling his hands, "There's something I never told you." He took a deep breath and Mexico felt a terrible rising anticipation. He wasn't used to seeing the man so insecure, and it elicited an unwelcome dread. Mexico wanted to pry, but he was not certain he wanted to know. But, the mortal continued speaking, "You know I had no access to education. It was impossible because of my race. When we met, I could neither read nor write. But, I have been teaching myself."

He paused for a moment, and Mexico stood stock still and silent. He had known nothing about this. Guerrero had spent so much time with him, and never once spoken of it. His mind slipped back to the nights they had spent apart. Had Guerrero spent those struggling over books? Guerrero said, "I knew I could not lead without it. I had to learn if I was ever going to get respect from men like him."  
Mexico cut in, asking the only question that occurred to him, "Why didn't you tell me? I would have helped." He was not entirely sure what he could have done, but Mexico was certain he could have.

Guerrero scoffed in a way that was disingenuous, because there was still so much beneath it, "I could tell when we met that you had been tutored. You are so articulate in a way I could never be. The thought of admitting how uneducated I am was embarrassing. Then after I learned who you are, I did not want you to doubt me." He said the last sentence with a look of chagrin, and Mexico found it oddly charming. He had thought that there were no secrets between them, and this one was relatively small. Or, it seemed relatively small to him. Yet, there was charm in the idea that Guerrero had a deep insecurity that he could now soothe. He did not hold any of this against the man; his own education had been forced upon him anyway. He responded, "I did not notice any problems, so you must have taught yourself well."

He could see the relief in he way that the man's shoulders relax. It seemed that he had expected Mexico to judge him harshly for keeping this back. He took a few steps toward Mexico and said, "Well, apparently Iturbide has noticed it. He must have suspected it from my letters. He wrote as verbosely as possible. I know he wants me to misunderstand or need clarification, and I will not bend to that."

Mexico turned his attention back to the proposal, this time looking specifically at the sections that were left untouched. He immediately understood why it was so difficult. Iturbide had chosen some of the most complicated jargon possible to convey his points. It was far too elaborate to be unintentional. Guerrero's assessment seemed entirely correct: Iturbide had done this to expose one of the man's weaknesses. Or, the thought occurred to him, to show Mexico the inadequacy of his general. He believed that it was likely; Iturbide was an ambitious man willing to do what he had to to gain the upper hand. But, Mexico felt a spike of pain in his chest, he had hit a nerve that was incredibly sensitive for the man. Mexico could not let his friend show any sign of weakness, so he said, "It is difficult, but not impossible. If you show me what is giving you trouble, I can help."

The suggestion seemed perfectly logical to Mexico. He owed the help to Guerrero, who already had insight into his own insecurities. But, to his surprise, his general replied, "I did not want you to have to do this." The words were stiff with pride, and they were not particularly compelling. Mexico could see that the other was only scared of being rejected. He responded, "I will not let him put you at a disadvantage. He can't have written anything I don't understand." To take the initiative, Mexico walked to the table and sat down, laying the paper out in front of him. Guerrero walked over and sat next to him, apparently deciding that it was better to take the offer. Once he was seated at Mexico's elbow, he leaned in towards the proposal. The wine still heightening his senses, Mexico could feel the proximity of the man distinctly. His body heat was against Mexico's arm and it was comforting. The thought crossed his mind for a moment to lean into the man's heat and forget about the lesson. The alcohol was making it harder to reason with himself to not do it. With enough effort, he refocused himself and said, "Show me what you are having trouble with."

The night wore on and Mexico was able to slowly parse through the proposal. It was clear that Guerrero had already made significant process learning to read on his own; it was more a question of vocabulary than structure. But, Mexico was able to fill the gap easily, and the process was smooth. Once they got through the document, it was abundantly clear that they were the same points Iturbide had made in person, but made unnecessarily complicated. Once they finished, Guerrero sighed to himself and said, "It appears that he is offering nothing new."

He paused as he considered it, and Mexico decided not to interrupt him as he appeared to mull over Iturbide's proposal. Eventually, the mortal said, "It is not a bad compromise. I will give him that much credit. As I said before, there are parts that I will insist are changed. It seems to have escaped his notice that equality was important to this war." Mexico could see some of the frustration rising, and he knew how to soothe it. He said, now allowing himself to turn to his general and lean slightly back so that he was putting some of his weight against Guerrero's shoulder.  
He said, "You will remind him of that. It will take both of you. You are his equal, and I will not let him treat you like you are not. We will rewrite this proposal for peace until you are both satisfied."

He paused for a moment while Guerrero gave him a look that made his heart beat a little faster. Then he said, "We have the time to get this right. Antonio won't be able to do anything." Mexico stopped, though he had more that he could say. It was enough just to offer his support.  
A genuine smile spread across the mortal's lips and he said, "I will hold him to account for it. I'm not going to give up anything."

He moved his arm and Mexico wished for a moment that he would wrap it around him. But, instead he put it comfortably back where it was. Guerrero changed the subject, "I think we have done enough for the night. If we are going to face Iturbide, we should get some rest. Mexico nodded, though he was not feeling remotely tired. It had been a long night, but Mexico felt perfectly comfortable. All the same, he stood up to make it clear that he agreed. Guerrero did the same, and Mexico imagined a look that passed between them.  
The mortal spoke again, though his eyes were saying something very different, "Tomorrow is a new day and Iturbide will not have it."

He gave Mexico one more confident smile before walking to the door of his chambers. Once he was gone, Mexico sighed to himself. He had the nagging feeling that he should have told the man about the offer of empire. But, he thought as he walked to the single window and glanced out at the moon. It was too big of a risk now, and it would likely come to nothing. But, he resolved to himself to be more guarded with iturbide, no matter what the man offered. The blows thus far had been too precise, but the man could not continue this indefinitely.

Mexico turned away from the window and walked to the door of his own bedroom, where he retired alone. But, as he took off his layers of clothing and laid down he still felt restless. Alone with his thoughts again, Iturbide's words continued to populate his mind. He closed his eyes and tried not to consider what it really meant. But, as he slipped into sleep, his dreams were in gold.

The next morning filtered in bright and clear through the curtains he had not drawn the night before. Mexico turned on his side and stared at the pale sky just outside of the window. The thought crossed his mind that Guerrero had been right the night before: the day belonged to him, not to Spain. It was worth remembering that, despite the differences between his leaders, he was on the verge of independence. He got out of bed and dressed carefully. It was more important now than ever to look impressive so as to not be underestimated.

Mexico buttoned his cuffs with one hand as he let his mind wander again. Negotiations would not be long in comparison to the years he had already spent on this cause. Then he would be back at the head of an army headed back to the capital. His mind had to remain fixed on that, the final end to all of this fighting. He finished dressing and stepped out into the antechamber. It seemed like a different room than it had the night before, full of darkness and possibilities. But there was something else out of place.

There was a large box sitting on the table, with a piece of parchment on top of it. It was strange that someone had already delivered this so early in the morning. Intrigued, he walked over to it and picked up the note. He recognized the handwriting immediately as Iturbide's, which was only more intriguing. The note was relatively short and to the point, "I hope you will accept this gift from me. I have noticed that you are in need of a new one. I did not have your exact measurements, so I will send you my tailor later to make the necessary adjustments." It was signed as his letters always were with a large elaborate signature. Mexico couldn't help admire his gaul; after only their second meeting, he dared to send gifts.

He put the note aside and looked at the size of the box. It was rather large. Without a second thought, he opened the box. Inside was a new uniform jacket. There were two gold epaulets sitting on top of the fabric, meant to be attached to the shoulders of the jacket. The red was so vibrant that it left no doubt as to how expensive this had been, and he could tell that the embroidery was done in gold. He had not owned anything this expensive since he left his old coat with Spain. He ran the fabric between his fingers and he could feel the weight. He let out a breath through his nose. This should not be exciting, but there was something so familiar about receiving gifts like this.

He heard the door open behind him, and he thought for a moment that he should attempt to hide the jacket. But, it was a dangerous precedent to set, and it was better to let Guerrero see it. The man walked with a certain urgency, and Mexico noticed that he had a few pieces of paper clutched in his hand. But, he stopped in the middle of the room when he caught sight of what was on the table. Mexico could hear the scorn in his voice as he said, "What is that?"

Mexico responded, keeping his feelings intentionally vague, "He sent me a gift." Guerrero took a step closer so that he could see exactly what was in the box. When he was close enough, he let out a groan, but said nothing to explain the response. Mexico didn't need an explanation though, he could see every emotion. He said, trying to be comforting, "I can refuse to accept it." Internally, the idea sounded unpleasant. Iturbide had given this to him, and he intended to keep it.  
Guerrero shook his head, "If you do that, he'll be offended. We cannot risk that during negotiations."  
Before Mexico could say anything in response, Guerrero turned away. He said, rushing over his words, "I need to get these sent."

Mexico wanted to reach out and stop him from leaving, but the man was walking far too quickly. As he turned and took a step after him, Mexico heard Guerrero mutter under his breath, "Rich bastard, if he thinks he can buy everything with blood money…." He couldn't make out the rest as Guerrero walked away, but he understood the feelings. It was exactly what he had feared, that Iturbide's boldness would cause resentment. He looked back at the box. It seemed like such a small thing, but it spoke volumes. Perhaps it would be better to send back the gift and keep his intentions pure. But, it would be just as bad to snub Iturbide. He and his army were essential and it was necessary to draw him in closer. So, still conflicted about how he felt about the gift, he closed the box again.

"He did that for several days in a row." Mexico explained with a look that was halfway between being flattered and annoyed. America was confused at the sudden turn.  
He responded, "What did he do?"

The look Mexico flashed him was one of annoyance at the way he was apparently failed to follow. He said with a sigh of annoyance, "He started giving me gifts every day. Every single one of them was lavish, and I knew he was paying for them with the money he earned fighting for Spain."  
Alfred shrugged, "So he wanted to get in your good graces. I don't see a problem with that."

Mexico turned to him with one eyebrow raised. America immediately got the feeling that he had missed something important. Mexico said, speaking as though what he was saying was obvious, "It wasn't what he was giving me that was the problem. The problem was the where and when. He made sure that they were always where Vicente could see it. I know what he was trying to do. He wanted to show me that there were things that Vicente could never give me, and he wanted Vicente to see that he would never measure up. If I had been less blinded by my own ambitions, I would have seen that."  
America responded with the only question that came to mind, "Did that disrupt the negotiations?"

Mexico shrugged, "I've gotten used to the sound of heated debate. It didn't help them to like each other any better, but that was never completely necessary for the independence." He turned his attention away from America and back to his own memories, "Somehow with all that animosity, they still managed to sort out an agreement."

Guerrero was still obviously angry from that morning, but he put on a facade of calm to speak to Iturbide again. As Mexico walked next to him, he could still feel the anger radiating off the man. It was impossible to completely alleviate the tension, but he made an attempt anyway. He could not stand the thought that his friend was angry at him for something so meaningless. Mexico said, "If it is bothering you that much, I will tell him that I do not want it."

The man glanced at him and some of the anger seemed to evaporate. The mortal's pace slowed and he said, "I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at him because he's every entitled creole I've ever met. I've fought at your side for years and he thinks he can win you over with trinkets. It's absurd." Mexico could see the resentment of years bubbling up as the man talked. It was somewhat inaccessible to him; his life had been one of privilege thus far. But, he could give some modicum of comfort.  
He said, "Antonio used to do the same thing. He would give me gifts to buy my loyalty. It means nothing to"

He stopped short of explaining what Spain had actually expected in return for his gifts. He had made his point well enough already. Guerrero nodded, but his gaze was still steely. Seeing that it would be more tactful, Mexico changed the subject, saying, "Who were the letters for?" He had not seen Guerrero writing the letters, so he assumed that it had been while he was with Iturbide. He had very little idea who the letters could be going to. But, the mortal had treated it with urgency. Guerrero answered, "I am writing to a few other commanders who have been fighting for freedom. I want to have backup to face Iturbide. He seems to think he can overwhelm me, but this is bigger than just me."

Mexico thought about this for a moment. It was smart of Guerrero to call for reinforcements. But, he hoped that there would a resolution before the letters were able to reach the others. This should not take long enough for that kind of political move. It seemed rather simple to Mexico. They had already agreed on many of the crucial points of the plan, so all that was left to do was to iron out the details. Only the individual stubbornness of the men involved would slow down the process at this point. But, Iturbide had made it more difficult with his attentions. Mexico finally replied, "I think you can handle him on your own, but it is still a good idea. They will be necessary to validate the compromise."

They reached the door to the negotiation room, and Mexico put his hand on the handle of the door before turning back to Guerrero. He said, "Are you ready?" The man took a deep breath before adopting a carefully neutral facade. Then he said, "Yes."  
Mexico put his hand on the other's shoulder and he said, "I'm here with you, don't forget."

Then he opened the door, allowing his general to walk past him. Mexico then turned his attention into the room, where Iturbide was already standing at the head of the table. Mexico caught his eye, and the man gave him a knowing smile. For a moment, Mexico thought back to the dinner the night before, and the sweet words about his imperial potential. But, he pushed the thought away and stepped into the room. He took his usual seat between the two, and had the feeling that Iturbide's eyes had not left him.

Guerrero cleared his throat pointedly, confirming Mexico's suspicion. He put Iturbide's proposal down on the table. Mexico stole a glance at Iturbide quickly enough to see a look of slight surprise on his face. But, it was gone quickly. Iturbide spoke, his voice full of confidence, "You have had time to read every part of my proposed peace. Do we have a compromise yet?"  
Guerrero took a deep breath, and Mexico saw a slight spasm of rage at being patronized, but he was calm as he said, "No we do not. I have questions about your solution."  
Before Iturbide could speak, Guerrero said, "Firstly, where do you propose to find a king? None of us should reward ourselves with a crown for our efforts."

Iturbide's response was so quick that he must have prepared for it, "We will offer our crown to a Spanish prince. That way we will keep the royalist support." Mexico put his hand over his mouth to stifle his scoff. He had no desire to be ruled by a Spanish king, who could easily fall back under Spain's control. But he kept the idea to himself. He could see his own reservations on Guerrero's face. The man did little to hide his incredulity when he said, "You want to place a Spaniard in power?"  
With a smoothness that indicated that he had expected this objection as well, "He will be required to give up all claim to the Spanish throne. It is necessary that we give the royalists something."

Mexico could not help but feel apprehensive about the prospect, but he would not step in yet. The right man could do little damage, especially restrained by a Congress. It was not his place, he reminded himself, to intercede between them. Guerrero spoke again, "My second point is vital. We must guarantee that no king will be able to infringe on the rights of any individual."  
This time it was Iturbide who scoffed, "That can be done."

The other pushed the entire stack of papers across the table. But it seemed to be little more than bravado, and Mexico appreciated the theatricality. Guerrero was learning about politics quickly. He said, "I will agree to nothing until equality is enshrined in law."  
Iturbide again failed to hide his slight irritation. But, he responded with,"I can write in a new provision." Mexico watched the man with a certain fascination. Iturbide was a politician, and he played the role well. But, he was not completely unassailable. Guerrero was managing to get through his defenses by being as steadfast as possible.

As the shifted topic again to more menial matters that interested Mexico less, he turned his attention to the prospect of the future itself. After so long, he would be free of Spain and his unwanted advances. He would be free to act on his own, with no interference from any outside force. It would be a welcome change to be able to make decisions for himself. He glanced from Iturbide to Guerrero. He was not fond of leaving his fate in the hands of mortals, but this was necessary. He should not intervene in politics himself.

He turned his thoughts to the more immediate future. Soon he would see Spain again, whether it was on the battlefield or at the negotiations for independence. Thus far, Spain had spurned the battle field and preferred to stay in the capital. But, could he really avoid it now that the independence was coming? Mexico mused that he would have to face before he could march into his own capital. He would have to come face to face with Spain again, but it would not be the same as the last time. The idea of fighting Spain one on one again brought up a swell of unwelcome fear. The last time they had fought, he had lost because of his own impatience. This time it would not be the same, he promised himself that. Mexico had learned enough in ten years of wars to know how to win against Spain. He was no longer that boy who thought that this all would be easy . He would be patient and careful, and be able to defeat Spain so he could force him to accept the independence. He smiled to himself at the thought, pushing away the fear that he felt at the idea of Spain defeating him again. He would have to face Spain and he would not balk at the prospect.

Mexico's attention was pulled back to the discussion in front of him when the two men stood up. Guerrero spoke first, "I expect you to rewrite those sections and we will discuss tomorrow."  
Iturbide nodded, but the look on his face was still one of frustration. Mexico stood and took a step towards Guerrero. Iturbide spoke directly to him, "Alejandro, my invitation is still open for tonight." He gave him one more knowing smile before leaving the room.

Mexico turned to his general, whose face had fallen back into an angry grimace. Guerrero only said, "He is so smug."  
Mexico countered, "But you were able to get him to concede." He stepped towards the door and Guerrero held it open for him. He could see that the man was not relieved in the least.

As they walked down the hallway, the mortal changed the subject abruptly, "Are you going to have dinner with him again? I would prefer if you did not. I do not like the idea of him trying to manipulate you." Mexico sighed to himself. He had expected that this would be a sticking point. The fact of the matter was that he did want the chance to speak to Iturbide again. The last time had been pleasant enough that he wanted another chance. But, he understood his general's trepidation at the idea.  
He responded with the easiest response he could find, "I already promised him that I would. I cannot break my word."

It was not the most honest answer. He could write back with an excuse, but he did not like the idea of snubbing the man. But, his excuse was convincing enough that Guerrero made a noise of discontentment, but he said, "I do not like it, but I would not ask you to break your promises." Mexico was glad to have escaped that argument. The mortal took a quick step in front of him, forcing Mexico to stop in his tracks and look right up at him. Guerrero put both of his hands on Mexico's shoulders. Their eyes met and Mexico could see the depth of the emotion there. His own lies suddenly felt like they were physically crawling under his skin. The mortal spoke with absolute conviction, "Be very careful with him. I do not like the way he looks at you."  
Mexico replied on instinct, "I promise, Vicente."  
The other took one hand off of his shoulder and took Mexico's hand in his own. He raised Mexico's hand to his lips and kissed his hand lightly. He said, "Keep that promise, Ale."

The room looked very much like it had the night before, and Mexico did not find it at all unpleasant. Iturbide was standing again, and he smiled when he saw his country. As before, Iturbide was the first to speak, "I thought your general would talk you out of seeing me."  
Mexico said, trying more consciously to keep his guards up, "I make my own decisions, and I still want to hear what you have to say."

He sat down again, and didn't dare to go for the wine again. That would make him weaker, and it was a mistake he was not going to repeat. Iturbide sat across from him and placed the proposal that he had given Guerrero on the table. He said, "i was looking through this and it wasn't all his handwriting." Mexico raised an eyebrow. He wasn't certain where this was about to go, but he was not going to cave to Iturbide's implications. The other flipped open to a page and said, "This is your handwriting, isn't it?"

Mexico leaned forward and said firmly, "Perhaps I have not made this entirely clear to you, but my goal is to facilitate this process. I want to be independent, and i need you to both reach an agreement to do that. I helped Vicente because I do not need either of you making this process longer than necessary."

Whatever point Iturbide had been building up to died in his mouth. Instead, he was left silent as he struggled for a new point. Mexico pressed his advantage, "I am not taking sides here. If you are expecting me to back you up, I am not going to."  
Iturbide had recovered enough to say, "I respect that. I want to bring you independence, and I will do it as soon as your general stops making demands."  
Mexico scoffed. He was not going to allow this. He said, "He knows what he fought for and he's not going to compromise that. It's honorable."

The other flipped the proposal closed again now that he was done with it. Then he shook his head, "It is impractical. We are not going to fix all of the world's problems now."  
Mexico parried back, his mind clear and focused on defending his friend, "He has compromised for you too. He has accepted that there will be a king, which I assure you he did not want. Vicente is not asking you right every inequity, he's just asking for the future to be fair."

Iturbide's expression was unreadable, but Mexico could tell that he was not pleased. The man chose his next words carefully, "And do you share his conviction?" Mexico reached for the wine, deciding that one more glass would strengthen his fire without putting him in any danger of letting go of too much. He poured a glass as he contemplated his own opinions. He said, once he had found a careful answer, "I am seeking the most pragmatic option that helps me to separate from Antonio. Your suggestions are not as pragmatic as you think."

Iturbide raised a doubtful eyebrow, silently questioning his meaning. Mexico countered the look when he said, "You must know that Spain is not about to give me a prince."  
He caught a glimmer in Iturbide's eye before the other responded, "I do not see why not. An ambitious enough prince would gladly take the offer." Mexico could feel that this response was not entirely genuine. There was something beneath it that he could not quite place.  
He pressed his own position, "You cannot believe that when you have met Antonio."

Iturbide poured himself a glass of wine and took a drink before he said, "I think it is worth extending the offer, even if Spain will be unwilling to spare a single member of his royal family." Again, there was something in his manner of speech that seemed to indicate that this had all already been considered.  
Mexico had the urge to delve deeper, to see what Iturbide really had planned. He said, seeking to delve deeper, "If we fail to secure a Spanish prince? What do we do then?"

He was certain that this was exactly the situation he was certain that they would be facing. Spain would give him nothing to aid in his independence. Iturbide smirked, as though he was not surprised in the slightest. He said, sounding more certain than he had during most of the conversation, "In that case, we will find a solution here. Didn't you tell me once that you will reward your own? I do not see why that should be an impediment. If the Spanish solution fails, the throne will not be empty."

Mexico stopped speaking for a moment and he smiled to himself for a reason that was not entirely clear to America. Then, without offering any explanation to America, Mexico said, "I should have been more suspicious of that. But he made sense to me. I still doubt that in that moment he was thinking of placing the crown on his own head."

He paused again, and America went to interject. He had a million questions about how that had come to be. But, before he could ask anything, Mexico spoke again, "I think you have an idea of how the negotiations went. I am not going to bore you with the details of each day. Much of what needed to be decided were details. By the third day, I was bored of hearing the two of them argue about minutia."

America nodded, but he still had so many questions. He wasn't certain that he would get the chance to ask any of them. As soon as he opened his mouth and tried to figure out which question to ask, Mexico spoke again, "Eventually we did all reach a compromise though. And with that plan in place, we marched out to put it in place."

The room was far fuller than it had been during negotiations, but the energy was electric. This was a monumental event and there was an awareness of that in the air. Mexico was standing against the wall, observing the moment he had planned for for so long. Guerrero was standing across from him next to Iturbide, who was laying a formal version of their agreement on the table. The mortal looked very splendid in his uniform. It was not the first time Mexico had noticed it, but it was particularly aparent in this light.

Mexico was in a particularly good mood, having finally had the weight of uncertainty lifted from him. He was certain of the importance of this moment. He was a step closer to the goal that he had held onto for so long. He felt a smile on his face as he watched Guerrero, looking every inch the general, step forward and sign the agreement. When the mortal looked up from the paper, he caught Mexico's eye and the mask of formality broke. Guerrero smiled, apparently reacting to the look of excitement on Mexico's face. If possible, Mexico felt his smile widen further. Iturbide stepped forward as well and signed. With that, it was concluded and Mexico felt his heart beat harder. From here, there was only one path forward, and he was ready to take it.


	56. Chapter 56

The pace was once again blistering, and Mexico felt emboldened by it. He preferred the steady beat of a march to waiting and plotting. Though he had experienced enough idle activity, this one felt like definite progress. There was only one goal now that Mexico had an army at his back and a firm plan on paper. He was going back to his capital for the first time since he had marched on it with Hidalgo, and this was different. He was marching to victory and he could feel it. It was a very welcome feeling after all the years of fighting.

He was pulling on the jacket that Iturbide had given him as a gift. With the proper tailoring, it looked perfect on him. He could credit Iturbide with having excellent taste. But, his mind was not on what he was wearing, it was on the question of Spain. They has advanced completely unopposed so far, but that only fed the feeling of foreboding. He knew Spain well enough to know that he would not give up, even when he knew he was outnumbered. Spain had to be planning something to stop the inexorable movement of the independence. Mexico wanted to be able to preempt it, but he knew the most important thing to do was to continue as he was. He had the larger army, and there was little Spain could do to stop him. And yet, his mind lingered, trying to imagine how Spain planned to stop him.

He heard a clearing of a throat behind him and he turned. Guerrero was standing in the doorway behind him, and he was a welcome sight. Mexico said, pretending to be coy, "What do you think?" The other smiled at him and stepped closer, and replied, "I don't approve of his gifts, but I will admit that he knows how to dress you." Mexico felt himself smile. He had expected the compliment, but he still enjoyed it. But, as he did, he saw the man's expressions slip. There was one of bitter unhappiness beneath it. Guerrero said, "I just-" He paused as he seemed to gather the proper words, and he said, "I don't imagine you like this."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he held himself back, and Mexico thought he understood what was left unspoken The class divide between them became more obvious when he dressed like this; there hadn't been anything that obvious before. But Mexico wanted to dismiss it because nothing was different between them. He said, "I haven't seen myself like this since this war started."  
Guerrero's eyes raked over him one more time, and the look in them was difficult to gauge. But, then he said, "There are some people I want you to meet."

Mexico nodded, he suspected that these were the rebel leaders that his general had sent letters to so urgently. He was intrigued, as he had only spent his time with the highest leadership. The others did not know about his existence, but they had fought for him in theory. He met Guerrero's dark eyes and said, "I would be glad to." He felt a smile slip through his composure. He was glad to see it returned on the other's face.

Mexico took a step, and with an easy familiarity, Guerrero fell in step with him. As they walked, Mexico adjusted his cuffs once more and asked, "Have you told them about me?" Guerrero looked at him questioningly and Mexico elaborated, "Have you told them who I am?" It was important to establish this before they met. Mexico needed to know if he should present himself as a country or just another officer.  
Guerrero responded, with confidence in his voice again now that he understood the question, "Yes, I told them that you are our country. You don't have to pretend."  
Since the question came to mind, Mexico said, "How did you explain it to them?"  
The other said, "The same way Jose explained it to me: That you are the immortal embodiment of the country. You are here with us because you want to be free."

Mexico nodded, it was a good enough explanation, and it invited very few questions. But, the thought occurred to him that he had never actually talked about himself to Guerrero or invited him to ask questions. Surely his existence was puzzling to mortals, and there must be far more that Guerrero wanted to ask him. He asked, genuinely curious, "And you never questioned that?"  
The mortal scoffed, "Of course I have questions. But, I suppose, I assumed you would tell me as they come up."

Mexico was surprised by how much respect this showed. Guerrero had not pried with the expectation that he would explain eventually. Mexico was touched. He said, with the lightest tone he could muster, "You can ask me anything you want. Later, of course." He caught a small smile from the mortal, which assured him that Guerrero would take him up on that offer later in the day.

They turned a corner and the mortal opened the door for him. Mexico stepped into a room where two other men who he did not recognize. They had been talking to each other, but they fell silent when Mexico walked into the room, followed by Guerrero. They both looked at him with a kind of curiosity, but it was restrained and respectful. Mexico decided not to make the first move, Guerrero had promised to introduce him to these men. So, he held back until his general started speaking.

As he expected Guerrero said, "This is Commander Guadalupe Victoria. He has been in command of our forces in Veracruz." He gestured to the trim slightly rakish man on the right, who gave Mexico a smile that was both undeniably charming and undeniably handsome. There was something rugged about him that Mexico couldn't quite explain to himself. He was also struck by the fact that the name was definitely not his birth name. He was intriguing, but he was not the only one in the room.

Guerrero continued, "This is Nicolas Bravo. He has been imprisoned until recently." This man struck Mexico as more subdued, but by no means timid. He could see that these were men who had faced the brunt of the war as fully as he had, and he felt a pang of regret that he had not met either of them earlier. Guerrero continued, "And this is Mexico."

Mexico nodded in acknowledgement. He was holding himself at a distance, even though he had no reason to distrust these men. He throughly expected for interactions to be formal, as this was their first meeting. But, Victoria stepped forward and enthusiastically extended his hand to Mexico, and said, "I have been looking forward to meeting you since I got the letter." Mexico took his hand and was surpirsed by how firm the other's grip was.  
His composure cracked and he smiled and said, "I am grateful for what you have done." He turned to the other man in the room, and added, "I realize that neither of you fought for me as a person, but I am grateful all the same."

He could feel Guerrero's eyes on him, but he could only guess why. Victoria's smile did not falter, he finally released Mexico's hand and said, "Don't be modest. The general was quite detailed about your own accomplishments. You have not waited for us to win freedom for you." Mexico felt something like a blush take to his cheeks at the fact that Guerrero had written such a glowing letter that these men would already hold him in high esteem.  
The other, who had been relatively quiet, stepped forward and said, "I am glad to finally have the chance to meet you. I have been waiting patiently for the chance at freedom."

Mexico could sense a fire simmering underneath the surface of the man's calm. He was not surprised that these were the men that had refused to accept a pardon and continued to fight. For all their variety, the tenacity and the passion had to be the same. And yet, he felt a distance from the newcomers, since Guerrero had been there personally with him through the hardest part of the independence. He was still distinctly aware of the fact that Guerrero was standing next to him, and he was tempted to turn and look at him, but he maintained his composure.  
He noticed as Victoria's expression slipped for a moment and he said, "As much freedom can be gained with a royalist in charge."

It was a slip in the carefully constructed formal atmosphere, and social niceties dictated that it should be ignored. Mexico did note it, even if he did not respond to it. He expected that tempers would run high when it came to Iturbide, but he had not expected it to happen so soon. Sensing the tension, Guerrero stepped in and said, "We need to organize our troops, but I hope that we will all be able to talk more tonight."

It was more artful than Mexico had expected; this time he did turn and look at Guerrero. He was learning so quickly and getting surprisingly good at politics. Pride welled up in his chest and he had to put concious thought into not smiling. With a few more formal promises concerning the night, Guerrero made his exit and Mexico followed him.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Mexico said, "They are both republicans, aren't they?" He knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear it.  
He heard the resignation in Guerrero's voice as he said, "I do not blame them for their frustration. Jose gave us all the hope of a republic with his declaration and we all gave our support to that. Iturbide is a difficult compromise and none of them are keen to accept him. I suspect they blame me for choosing to negotiate with him."

Mexico was somewhat surprised that they did not know that he had pushed for the alliance with Iturbide. It appeared that Guerrero had omitted details to shield Mexico's reputation. In return Mexico said, "There wasn't a choice, we either negotiated with him or let him win. We both know that."  
Guerrero nodded in agreement, "I have explained that, but I understand why they are not happy. They have agreed to bring their men to our army, and that is enough."

Mexico was about to retort and insist that no one had the right to blame him for doing what was necessary, the other changed the subject, "You don't mind spending your night with me instead of Iturbide, do you? Those two deserve the chance to get to know you. If anything can remind them what we are actually fighting for, it is meeting you."

Mexico smirked, and wondered privately if this had been the goal all along. Bringing in other insurgent leaders had given him an excuse to divert Mexico's attention away from Iturbide. But, he didn't mind the cunning. There was also no harm in escaping Iturbide's strange magnetism. He replied with a smirk, "I'm sure Iturbide can stand to be deprived of my presence for a night."

He saw a question struggle behind Guerrero's eyes for a moment, but it stayed in his mind. But Mexico could guess at it because it was the same question that the man had stopped asking over the past couple weeks. Guerrero wanted to know what Mexico spent time talking to Iturbide about. Mexico had been as forthcoming as possible, but he had kept the way in which Iturbide had consistently hinted at the power and prestige that Mexico could have as an empire, but never in such a way that it was an explicit statement. It always took the guise of flattery about how powerful and strong Mexico could be if he took up his mother's mantle of empire. It had all created a concept that had not left his mind, and had pushed aside his enthusiasm about the idea of being a republic.

But, Mexico would not reveal any of this to Guerrero because it was not anything concrete. It seemed petty to say that Iturbide was just flattering him with an idea that was antithetical to Guerrero's ambitions. Instead, Mexico said, "I look forward to it anyway. I would like to get to know the others who have fought for me."  
Guerrero nodded as well, and then he said, a smile spreading across his face, "I'm glad that I am one of the people who has been able to see you get your freedom. Nothing can keep you from it now."  
Mexico smiled and said, "I am glad that it is so close." He thought for a moment to add the caveat that had been on his mind before, but he didn't bring the question of Spain up. For now, it was enough to be close to liberation and to have such exceptional support.

The day passed into night in the same repetitiveness as the past few weeks, progress was slow, but certain. However, the change in company provided Mexico with an interesting opportunity for the night. He found himself sitting next to Guerrero, who had spent the day by his side. After all the time they had spent together, Mexico felt far more comfortable with the man there. The layer of formality that had been present before disappeared as the night went on and Mexico found himself more comfortable.

Victoria leaned forward and said, a manic gleam in his eye, "I was this close to getting to the viceroy." The burning passion that the man had shown before was almost blinding now. Mexico found a fascination in it; he could sit here forever and listen to his story. Victoria had a polished quality to his speach that seemed to indicate intelligence rather than pretension. Mexico could tell that he was not the only one enthralled. In total, there were five people at the table, including a Colonel that Bravo had introduced as Manuel de Mier y Teran, and everyone had been silent as Victoria recounted his conquests. The man continued speaking, "I attacked his convoy and he managed to slip away like the Spanish coward that he is."

Bravo spoke, and his manner was no more restrained, "Wouldn't that have been something. Then we would have no need to be negotiating with someone like Iturbide."  
Guerrero's voice was intentionally calm when he countered, "But we have to now. He has decided to declare in favor of independence, and he brings so much creole support with him."

Mexico watched the faces of all the others very carefully, trying to judge their reaction. It was not wholly negative, he could detect that they all understood that this was necessary. But, Victoria retorted, "I did not refuse a pardon and face loyalist persecution to put my trust in one of them." He met Guerrero's eyes and his look was a challenge.  
The other took it and said, "I am not asking that you trust him. I have only trusted him so far as I need to. I wrote to you because I was hoping you would be able to bolster my position against him."

When the other man opened his mouth to respond, Mexico cut in, feeling that he should back up his general, "I don't doubt that you all would have chosen a republic over the solution that Iturbide offers. But, we must face what we have risked and what we have lost and take this chance to have peace and freedom." Mexico could feel that all the eyes were on him, but he was comfortable in his position. He was trying to mediate any anger that might be directed at Guerrero for his decision to bring Iturbide to their side.

Victoria's expression shifted as he let out a sigh and said, "I am here to show my support for the plan, but I think that we can do better." He looked directly at Mexico and continued, "I do wish sincerely for your freedom, and I will not create more conflict that will impede that. But, I want it to be perfectly clear that this is not my ideal solution."  
Seeing the opportunity to delve further into Victoria's stance, Mexico parried, "What would your ideal solution be?"  
He caught a glimmer of renewed interested as Victoria said, "If you want to know, my position has never changed and I still favor a republic. If there is to be a leader, then it should be one of us. We have fought and sacrificed for it."

Mexico nodded, more to himself than to anyone else. He understood the reasons for it, but he couldn't stop the thought that it would never be possible. It had been Morelos's dream, and if he was still alive it may have been possible. But, given the necessity of compromise, it would only alienate Iturbide. Victoria had apparently not yet finished, and he said, "But I do fear that we are welcoming Cesar into our ranks."

The allusion was interesting and Mexico guessed that it came from an education. He was more than familiar enough with the classics to respond, "Well, I hope that this does not end with his blood on the Senate floor."

The words passed his lips easily as banter, but as soon as he said it, a chill shot down his spine. He couldn't help but feel that there was something horribly prophetic about the statement, though he did not want to imagine why. It implied that this entire bid for independence would collapse, and he could not face that idea. It was not comforting when Bravo cut in and said, "We should remember that we have popular support, and if Iturbide takes the wrong step and endangers the liberty we have fought for we can fight again. Our support is conditional, and we are not granting him the ability to do as he pleases."

This statement caused another unpleasant chill to pass over Mexico's skin. He suspected that Iturbide was planning to do exactly that, and he felt a jolt of fear at the thought that chaos could ensue if Iturbide took a step in a more monarchist direction. Mexico glanced at Guerrero, who was sitting next to him, and was disappointed to see the man nod and agree, "I have negotiated a representative government with him, but if he does not respect that, I will move against him."

If it were just the two of them, Mexico would have objected, but given present company he decided to just let it play out. But, an unbidden part of his mind noted that if Guerrero was doing what was best for him, then it would occur to him that stability would be better than ideals. But, Mexico kept the thought to himself, and tried not to dwell on it. Agreement went around the table and Mexico felt himself withdraw from the conversation.

He listened as the topic switched from the serious matter of politics to trading war stories. Mexico responded only when he needed to, and was careful to offer his encouragement when needed, but it hardly felt sincere. He was still thinking about the possibility that Iturbide's offer of empire was sincere and that it would bring immediate backlash. He was hardly paying attention when Victoria abruptly stood and said, "I am sorry to deprive you all of my company, but it is getting late and I need to be well rested for the days ahead."

Mexico watched him leave and tried to sort his feelings about the man. He could not deny that the man was intelligent and charismatic. His stories of the war spoke to his courage and conviction, which were invaluable traits. And yet, he did not seem particularly amendable to pragmatism. That could be a problem creating a lasting solution, since Victoria could likely bring so much support to his side easily. It would be even more decisive if Guerrero chose to join him. Mexico didn't like the idea of having to consider his general and dear friend an impediment, but he couldn't afford to underestimate the pull he might have as an opposition figure.

A light touch on his arm broke Mexico out of his train of thought. He turned to Guerrero, who had touched him to get his attention. Mexico realized that they were alone in the room; he hadn't realized how deeply he had descended into his own thoughts spurred on by the thought of doing all he could to avoid being in a position where he was weak enough for Spain to threaten him.

He turned to Guerrero and was about to speak, but the other spoke first, "Are you alright?"  
Mexico forced himself to smile, though he was unsettled, "I am fine."  
The look on Guerrero's face was one of disbelief, and when he replied, he said, "You haven't been-" He paused while he searched for a word, and finally settled on, "You haven't been yourself."

Mexico was slightly surprised that Guerrero had noticed while being engaged in the conversation. But, he couldn't admit to what he had been thinking, since he had doubting Guerrero. So, he summoned his best composure, and replied, "I was listening, but I didn't want to interfere."  
Guerrero's eyes were no less concerned when he said, "If something is wrong, I want to know. I've almost lost you once, I refuse to do it again."

Mexico considered for a moment that he could be completely honest with his feelings. But that would require saying everything that he knew about Iturbide, and he couldn't do that. Instead, he said, "I do not want more war when I am independent. If we continue to fight over every ideological difference, it will never end."  
Guerrero said, seemingly relieved that he had finally found the source of Mexico's unhappiness, "I do not want that either. I truly do not." He turned and took one of Mexico's hands in his own and then added, "But I will not let Iturbide do anything that will hurt you. I will not stand down if he tries to use you for his own gain." Mexico nodded, but the conversation had done very little to settle his unease. He decided that, for the moment, he could treat it as a hypothetical situation. Everyone agreed on the current plan, and conflict would only come from deviation. For his own sake, he had to hope that the current plan would come to fruition.

"I knew the progress would not go unchallenged. Eventually, Tony had to face me." Mexico had paused in the middle of telling his story. He was facing away from America and it was hard to tell what his expression was. But, there was a hard edge in his voice as he continued, "I should have known he would be vicious. But, I hadn't seen him for over ten years and I had let myself forget exactly how cruel Tony could be."

America heard Mexico take a deep breath to try to calm himself and he was worried about what was coming next in the story. It seemed that thus far when Mexico got this worked up before he spoke, it was because something terrible was going to happen. But, America dared not say anything. He knew that Mexico would continue more quickly if he didn't ask any questions at all. And as he expected, Mexico continued without paying him much mind, "We had a few small battles along the way, but the army was so big and popular that there was very little resistance. We were closing in on the capital when we finally met a sizable force, and Tony was with them. I hadn't seen him since the first year of my rebellion. I wasn't certain what to expect."

The scouts had reported that this was the biggest force they had faced and it was directly between them and the capital, and Mexico looked from Guerrero to Iturbide, waiting for one of them to speak. Iturbide was the first to do so, with a smirk appearing on his face, "This is the final challenge. If we defeat this one, there will be nothing between us and entering the capital in triumph."

Guerrero nodded, though his agreement seemed less than enthusiastic. He turned to Mexico and said, "We'll need a strategy, even though I'm sure you would love to dispatch them as quickly as possible." Mexico felt himself smile at the wit. He was eager to return to his own home in the capital after being gone for so long, but he knew that rushing would only put the cause in jeopardy. He needed to carefully proceed so that he could finally have a victory and a lasting one. He told himself that after all these years of fighting, waiting only a little while longer would be worth it to not make the mistakes that he did earlier in the war.

Iturbide replied, "But, it is a victory that we are this close and outnumber them." Mexico detected a slight twitch of unhappiness in Guerrero's face at the casual use of the word "we", but he made no comment on it.  
Instead, he stayed on the topic, "It is a victory and there is much that we can hope for from here. But, it is better to not look past the battle."

There was another knock on the door, and Mexico expected that it was another scout reporting on the enemy troop movements. Iturbide motioned for the man by the door to open it. The mortal who stepped in was carrying a letter, and he immediately looked around and said, "Commander Carriedo instructed me to give this to the rebel commander."

The sound of the name made Mexico draw in a sharp breath. It was not the first time that Spain had sent him a letter, but this felt like the moment he had been expecting. He knew that he could not avoid coming face to face with Spain. Iturbide stood and took the letter from the man and then turned it over several times. He ran his thumb over the wax seal, but did not yet break it. He looked at Mexico and said, "So, it's from him. He's finally leading an army himself." Mexico nodded and said, clasping his hands together, "He was going to do it eventually. If he wants to have a chance to stop me, he has to do this now."

He took a deep breath and said, "But it is too late, and I am looking forward to finally forcing him to defend his empire."  
Guerrero said, sharply, "Is this Spain?"  
Mexico turned to him and said, "Yes, apparently he has finally tired of sending threatening letters from a distance."  
The other replied, "He once threatened to humiliate me on the battlefield, I wonder if he can."

Mexico felt a pang of concern; he thought back on the first time he had fought Spain and how he had been defeated. He thought momentarily of Guerrero facing Spain himself and the possibility that the centuries of practice would tip the scale. But, Mexico shook off the thought; no one would face Spain except for him. He needed to do it personally and show that he had learned since he had impulsively fought Spain before.

He replied to Guerrero, "It seems that we will be testing that soon."  
Iturbide had broken the seal on the letter and read it while they were talking and he said, "Perhaps not. He is suggesting that we meet to speak. He promises that it is under the banner of truce."

Mexico scoffed, he had not expected that. After the vitriol that he had seen in the letters from Spain, he had never expected any compromise. He suspected that even if the temporary truce was sincere, Spain had some trick. There was absolutely no possibility that Spain had reconciled himself to losing his most valuable colony. He voiced the thought, "I don't know what he wants, but this is not an offer of peace."  
Iturbide replied as he folded the letter carefully, "I agree with you, but we cannot afford to give up a chance."  
Guerrero responded, looking at Mexico instead of Iturbide, "I agree that we should take the chance. If he offers nothing of substance, then we will attack."

Mexico contemplated for a moment, waiting for the feeling of dread or foreboding to come over him, but it did not. It didn't convince him that there was anything to be gained from talking to Spain, but at least the truce seemed genuine. He said, "Then we should write back to Antonio and let him know that we accept his offer."

The reply came within the hour and the meeting was set by the afternoon, and Mexico was dwelling on what it would be like to face his colonizer again. He had not expected or wanted it to be this way; he wanted to face Spain on the battlefield where he could cut him down without complications. Conversation would open him up to facing feelings he had not dealt with in years. He longed to feel nothing but hate for Spain, but he knew that it was far more complicated than that.

As the hour drew nearer, he paced and almost rhythmically pulled his sword from its sheath and pushed it back in. Strictly speaking, he should not have brought a sword to a meeting with a declaration of truce, but he did not trust Spain and would not let himself be parted from his weapons. His mind was on what Spain could say or do and he hated that he was not certain. When he had first rebelled, he would be able to predict exactly what Spain would do, but now it was not as clear.

He suspected that this strange temporary truce was to meet his opponents in person and size them up, and nothing more. But even that seemed unnecessary. Mexico could think of nothing that Spain could gain from this, and that thought unnerved him. He didn't like approaching Spain with no idea of what was going to happen; it brought on an old childish fear. He was trying to calm himself with the physical feeling, but it was hardly working.

Guerrero opened his door and paused when he saw Mexico pacing. He knew him well enough to know that this was a sign that he was upset. He said, "Ale, are you ready?"  
Mexico stopped in his tracks and looked at his general. He said, voicing only one of the anxieties he had been dwelling on, "Promise me that you won't believe anything he says."  
Guerrero immediately said, "What?"  
Mexico thought it was apparent, but he explained anyway, "Tony doesn't know anything about me, but he thinks he does. I have no idea what he is going to say, but I don't want you to believe it."

It was one of the thoughts that had occurred to him more than once: Spain might want this opportunity to undermine Mexico in front of his generals by revealing what he knew. Most of it could not be true because what Spain believed was based on a lie, but it could be damaging nonetheless. But Guerrero reached out and placed his hand calmly on Mexico's dominant hand, which was still firmly on the hilt of his sword. The mortal spoke and his voice was soothing, "Why would I ever believe him over you? I am prepared to meet an imperialist who is probably going to disregard me."

Mexico nodded and swallowed the rest of his objections. After this long, he had no reason to fear Spain. Even if he had wanted it to be simpler, there was nothing that Spain could say to him that would make him forsake his independence. He took a deep breath to calm himself and said, "Then I am ready."

The room was well lit, and there was a table between the parties, though there was nothing on it. Mexico was glad for it; it would prevent either of them from doing anything physical. Spain was on the other side of the room with two mortals flanking him, but Mexico suspected that the men were only there as backup in case this meeting should turn violent. Mexico had both of his commanders at his side, and he could feel their presence conspicuously; it was comforting. He could have sworn that Guerrero was standing closer than Iturbide was. The old habit of protecting him seemed to have come to the surface again.

Mexico stopped on one side of the table and fixed his eyes directly on Spain. The other country's gaze raked over him, and Mexico felt a familiar discomfort. It felt like Spain could see straight through his clothing and the hunger in his eyes made Mexico's skin crawl. He could feel the ghosts of touches on his skin as Spain looked at him. Mexico drew in a sharp breath and braced himself.

He refused to be the first to speak, if Spain wanted this encounter, then he would have to start it. Spain smirked and said, "I have missed you, Alejandro." His tone was unpleasantly familiar, and Mexico recognized it as the tone Spain always used when they were alone together. It was horribly disconcerting to hear it when they were surrounded by other people.  
He replied, "And I was hoping to never see you again."

Spain grimaced, and for a moment Mexico hoped that he had hurt the man with the barb. But, that hope was crushed when Spain said, his disdain dripping from his voice, "You have developed the most provincial accent." Mexico smirked, he liked the idea that he had broken one of the mannerisms Spain had carefully taught him. But, this seemed tame compared to what he was expecting.

Spain changed the subject without waiting for Mexico to respond, "I wanted to talk to you alone, but I knew that these two would never let you out of their sight. Surely we don't need the traitor and the half-breed here." Mexico heard the sharp intake of breath to his right and he knew exactly why. But, he couldn't take his attention off of his enemy.  
Mexico said, barely restraining himself, "They don't trust you for good reason."  
Spain scoffed, "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't have asked to meet. I want to talk to you and no one else."

Mexico understood all of this suddenly, it had been to isolate him and influence him alone. It was underhanded, though Mexico was certain that he could easily resist Spain. But, he didn't get the chance to respond, because Guerrero growled, "This isn't about what you want."  
Mexico saw the Spaniards expression changed, darkened by a jealousy blacker than anything Mexico had seen before. He turned decisively towards the man he clearly thought of as his rival, "Oh, this one likes you. Do you really know him as well as you think?"

He turned back to Mexico with a smile that spoke of feigned curiosity, "Have you told him about us?" Spain's tone made Mexico suspect that he already knew the answer, and guessed at exactly why.  
Mexico tried to deflect the question, because it was not something he wanted to discuss and it would only undermine Guerrero's confidence in him to hear the lies that had always been present in the court, "It is not relevant to this conversation."  
Spain immediately responded, "So you have not?"

Mexico refused to dignify the question with a response. He glared at the Spaniard and tried not to imagine what lies Spain was alluding to, though he already was certain that it would be at best an exaggeration of their relationship. Spain continued, shifting his gaze back to Guerrero, "Well, then I will tell you. You may be occupying it for the time, but it is still my land."

Mexico understood what he was saying under the surface of the metaphor, and he was disgusted by being refered to as nothing more than property. He was about to speak, but Guerrero was faster, "It won't be your land for much longer. Have you noticed that you are losing the war?"

Mexico could almost sense that Guerrero was leaning closer to him, and if he could, he would probably have drawn a weapon by now. Mexico could hear that the mortal was barely restraining himself. But, Spain hardly seemed fazed, "You do not worry me. You are a curiosity and Ale gets bored of his toys eventually."  
Iturbide finally spoke, "Is there a diplomatic reason for this or did you just want a chance to vent your bile?"

Spain dismissed him quickly with a wave of his hand and saying, "Quiet, traitor. This isn't about you." He then turned his gaze back to Guerrero and continued in the same patronizing tone, "He is already moving on, so you must not be that interesting. He's found another already." He looked back at Iturbide and his meaning could not have been clearer.  
Mexico said, barely keeping his anger out of his voice, "Do not presume that you know anything about it."

The smirk that appeared on Spain's face made Mexico''s skin crawl again. He did not want to hear what was coming, but he could not stop the other from speaking. Spain leaned forward and Mexico could feel Guerrero shift uncomfortably beside him. The Spaniard's voice had a sickening level of smugness to it as he said, "If I am not right, then why is everything you're wearing new?" He paused for only a moment before adding with a scoff, "I paid better."

Mexico could feel his temper boiling, but he had to remain calm enough to not draw his longed to leap over the table and fight Spain, but he could not. He tried not to visibly react and instead turned the conversation back in his favor, "How much longer are you going to insult me before you offer me your surrender?"

He knew that it was unlikely that Spain had any intention of doing anything but undermining him, but the comment put Spain back on the defensive. Mexico refused to let Spain forget that he was outnumbered and losing. He refused to let Spain have power over him again or to let Spain shame him for the progress he had made. Spain shook his head as he spoke, "My dear boy, I have no intention of surrendering. I am giving you the last chance to give yourself up."

Mexico let out a laugh at the delusion of the statement. He could not believe that Spain really thought that there was any chance of victory. He could see the way Spain's expression hardened at the idea that his colony would laugh at him. That in itself was deeply satisfying. Mexico finally said, "You have lost and you expect me to surrender out of pity? Or can you really not face it? You only have the capital and Veracruz, unless am I mistaken."  
He turned to Iturbide in a theatrical gesture, "Have we lost territory that I am not aware of?"  
Iturbide, catching on to his act, replied, "No, we still hold all of the country with the exception of the capital and Veracruz."

Mexico turned with a triumphant smirk to Spain, "So, what reason would I have to surrender?"  
Spain replied with what sounded like a carefully planned response, "You don't know what I have protected you from. If you win, the most powerful empire will take you, if I don't take you back. You will fail at the first challenge and be subject to whoever takes the opportunity. I am a kinder master."

Mexico put his hands on the table and leaned forward, "You were never kind. I would rather take my chances with anyone else than go back to you."  
Spain replied, mirroring Mexico's movements so they were the closest they had been the whole encounter, "You were never innocent. Pretend that you never asked for it, but you enjoyed my attentions."

Mexico pulled away, taking a step towards Guerrero. He saw the conquistador in Spain's eyes, but he no longer cared. The man was weak and desperate, and Mexico refused to fear him. He smiled at Spain and said, "Goodbye, Tony. I will see you on the battlefield, if you have the courage to face me."  
He then walked away, turning his back on his old colonizer. He felt Guerrero touch him breifly on the shoulder and he turned to the man who was looking at him with a pride that made his heart jump. He heard Spain yell at his back, "You're making a big mistake, boy. You will always be selfish and reckless and you will never succeed on your own!"

That night, Mexico actually felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders; he had confronted his monster and come out of it with his support intact. Though Spain had been cruel to him, and the second to last remark had remained present in his mind. Had Spain really believed that he enjoyed his advances? It was hard to imagine what level of self delusion would lead Spain to believe that his affection had been reciprocated.

Mexico was in his room slowly taking off his weapons and laying them aside. He knew that he would need them soon, since Spain would have to take his bait and fight him. If not, he would effectively be forfeiting the war. Mexico hoped that now he had fought in battle after battle, he had the experience and skill to finally beat Spain when they fought. There was a knock on his door that he was not expecting, and he was immediately intrigued. Surely nothing required his attention for the night. It was unlikely that Spain would make a move this quickly; Mexico knew him well enough to know that the shock of being rejected would keep Spain at bay for a time.

He went to the door, and opened it to find Iturbide standing there, still wearing his uniform. Mexico said, "Agustin, is something wrong?" The mortal met his eyes and the look on his face was one that Mexico had never seen before.  
There wasn't the usual smooth confidence in his voice when Iturbide said, "May I talk to you?"  
There was a thickness in his voice that touched Mexico, and he immediately said, "Of course."

He stepped out of the way so that Iturbide could step into the room. As soon as Mexico closed the door, Iturbide said, "I am sorry that I did not say more today. I was shocked." This seemed incredibly unusual to Mexico that the man would apologize. But, he did not blame the mortal for his silence; he had been the target of Spain's rage and had not expected the others to fight his battle for him.  
He replied, "I do not blame you; I did not need you to say anything."

But Iturbide shook his head and continued speaking, "I did not expect that. I did not think Spain would act that way. From the way that he spoke about you before, I thought that he at least respected you. But I can see how wrong I am now."

The confession was so honest that Mexico paused for a moment and realized that Guerrero could not be right, a man who was only in this movement for his own gain could not make a confession this raw. But, Mexico still could understand the first impression. Spain was a very different man when he was trying to be charming. Mexico tried to explain what he had learned through hundreds of years of colonialism, "He has two faces, and I know them both well. When he is in control, he will be very flattering. And perhaps he was being more honest with you then. But I rejected his authority and nothing makes him angrier than that."

Iturbide let out a sigh and looked like he was struggling to express what he was feeling. After a few minutes of silence while the mortal wrung his hands, Iturbide finally said, "I have been thinking about how I fought to bring you back to him. I could have given you over to a man who treats you like that." The guilt of this thought was clearly gnawing at him. In this moment, Mexico felt like he was seeing the core of the man more clearly. He felt like he could see how much Iturbide cared about him.

He said, trying the assuage the guilt, "There is no use in looking backwards. You are here now and it is thanks to you that I am this close to independence." He looked Iturbide in the eyes and attempted to convey his sincerity.  
But Iturbide shifted uncomfortably and said, "I need your forgiveness for my actions. I cannot sleep without it." He met Mexico's eyes again and said, "I have only ever done what I thought was best for my country. I didn't want to hurt you."

Mexico took a deep breath and replied, using the words that immediately occurred to him, "I do forgive you, and I would not have accepted your offers of friendship if I did not think you were sincere. Do not waste time on this, because Antonio will make another attempt to end this war and we need to be ready for it."  
The other nodded and then smiled in a way that was familiar, "Thank you for that. Good night, Alejandro."


End file.
